Overwhelmed
by Endless England
Summary: Florence is a beautiful girl and the younger sister to Spain, Romano, and Italy. When her nation is taken over by a mysterious group of deadly criminals, she must escape to Germany and seek help from all the nations, but war is not the only issue. Florence must also choose between the two nations that she loves the most in a love triangle, but will she live long enough to decide?
1. Chapter One: The Morning That Hell Came

Author's Note:

Hello everybody! First of all, I'd like to thank you for reading my story! I spent a long time doing this, and I couldn't wait to share it!

Anyways, just a few warnings for you all:

1) OC

2) Mild Language

And that's about it! I hope you enjoy!

I do not own Hetalia, any of its characters, scripts, ect. The only thing I own is my OC, Florence.

* * *

Florence shrieked as yet anotherwarplane whisked by her, its wheels hovering almost close enough to take off her head. The ear-shattering rumble that eluded from the plane's engine was ringing in her ears violently. Good thing that the noise clogged her eardrums. She did not want to hear the explosion and ear-piercing screams that soon followed.

She would not be able to take it.

"Everyone will be fine, Florence," Romano whispered in her ear, "everything and everyone."

Lies.

They were all lies.

She nuzzled her head into the bend of her older brother's neck as his warm body shielded her from the madness around them. He stifled a grunt as her chin brushed his wounded shoulder, which was withdrawing his scarlet blood rather quickly. Using his right arm, which was the one that was injured, he wrapped it tightly around his sister's shoulders and adjusted his neck where her mouth and nose were on it, breathing hot air onto his soft, pale skin.

Breathing the fresh air they were lacking now.

"Romano," Florence whispered.

Romano silenced her by pushing her face deeper into his neck and stroking her long, brunette hair that swayed freely on her back.

_Just keep going, Florence. For me. _

Suddenly, a borage of gunshots and cries of bloody murder tore through the morning sky. Romano clenched his jaw and squeezed his sister closer to him. They had to move quickly if they were to get out of this alive.

Barley alive, that is.

Clinging to her brother, Florence walked briskly with him down the streets of Rome, Italy. She tried to ignore the several gunshots that were being fired into the air as Romano led her further and further away from the chaos behind them. There was smoke all around them from the bombs that were dropping like flies onto the city. Florence was heavily breathing the heat from her brother's neck, attempting to find fresher air to inhale.

Romano's hand was still pushing her head into his neck and stroking her hair with affection as he lead her away from the thousands of gunmen and dead bodies that they left behind. His other arm was wrapped around both of her shoulders as an attempt to pull her even closer to him.

He was _not _going to loose his sister.

Romano shuddered as more shrieks of terror rang out into the sky. Those screams only lasted a brief moment before a loud gunshot was heard. Then, they were silenced in an instant. He had to tear his wandering mind away from the horrifying images of innocent people having their lives ripped away from them in a single second and having to perish horribly in front of their families and prying eyes.

Suddenly, a gunshot was fired only feet away from them.

Romano gasped as the bullet whisked by his head as fast as lightening, just barley missing his ear. Instead of putting a hole in the middle of his forehead, the miniscule, silver bullet sailed into the streets behind him, ripping through an Italian flag that was torn and burnt from the attacks.

"R-Romano! They found us!" Florence cried, clutching his pink, button-up blouse in her hands.

Standing only several yards away from them was what Romano thought to be Hell on Earth. Storming the streets of Rome were hundreds of burley men clothed in sharp, black, pinstripe suits. Their bodies were just clumps of meat and muscle, poorly mixed together. Their thick chests and arms were so muscular that they could easily tear through their uniforms at any moment. Masking each cold blooded face was a pair of dark sunglasses; their heads being topped off with a grey fedora. Each man also carried various weaponry, some being simple handguns and crowbars, while others being shiny machine guns and state of the art hand grenades. Baseball bats, clubs, revolvers, and even brass knuckles were glimmering in the morning sun, itching to be used.

Itching to kill.

Romano watched in utter horror as one of the lead men took out a match from his suit pocket and lit his baseball bat, launching it through a nearby window, and setting the apartment ablaze with fire. Others soon followed his lead as they shot their handguns into random buildings and even worse; into random faces. The grenade throwers had already yanked the pin out with their massive jaws and sent the miniscule bombs flying through the air, turning God knows what into a million, toasted pieces. In an instant, the street was filled with fires, blood, and dead bodies of men, women, and children alike.

Romano pulled Florence as close to his chest as he could, resting his head on top of hers and wrapping his arms around her protectively.

He had to get her out of here and to Spain as fast as he could.

Before there was anymore time to think, another silver bullet was fired at them and sailing towards them at a breakneck speed. Suddenly, Romano removed his hold on Florence and shoved her into the tall, brick apartment building that was next to them. Shielding her with his body, Romano kept her pinned against the wall with his firm grip on her shoulders as the bullet whisked by their heads and into the windshield of someone's abandoned car. Their faces were only an inch apart, and they could feel their hot, rapid breath on each other's frightened faces. Romano moved his hands off of her shoulders and cupped them around her cheeks.

"Are you alright, Florence?" he asked, getting even closer to her face, as if he could read the answer in her large, amber orbs.

She just nodded in response, unable to breathe or speak. She could hardly move at all with the strong hold Romano had on her. Here she was, pinned against a cold, brick wall with Romano centimeters from her face, noses touching, and caressing her hair and cheeks. He was certainly much stronger than he appeared.

She stared intently into his beautiful eyes, trying to send a message of what was really going on inside of her. The fear. The anger. The depression. The terrifying thoughts of leaving her nation behind and running away with him to Germany. The horrifying images of people being violently murdered and her city being destroyed by these monsters.

The tears.

Especially the tears.

Florence just wanted to burry her face into his chest, cling to his warm body, and cry. Cry for hours and never stopping until all of the pain, sadness, and frustration were completely gone. She wanted to cry until this massacre had ended and Italy was restored and safe again. Cry until it was the beautiful, romantic, and lively place that Romano had raised her in all of these years.

But she could not.

She could not let those dreaded, cooped up tears spill out of her eyes and drip down onto her pale cheeks. She could not taste the salt that would fall onto her tongue from the drops of water flowing from her eyes. She could not even let a single tear fall and hit the ground in silence and secret. It would all just stay inside of her forever, always chasing and haunting her for the rest of her life. The fear, the anger, the depression, and yes, the tears would always be there, lost in hopelessness.

Florence was torn from her brother's eyes when a sudden burst of flames exploded in the building next to them. She squeezed her eyes shut at the ear piercing screech that erupted from the building where the active grenade had just exploded.

There was blood.

Bloodstains all over the place.

"We need to get out of here," Romano said, searching for an exit.

His eyes scanned the horizon, looking for a way to get Florence out of here. That was when his bright, amber eyes fell onto the car that the bullet had went through only moments ago. A sly smile escaped his lips as he saw the key still hanging out of the ignition.

"C'mon!" he cried, gripping his sister by the wrist and running to the bright red, Italian sports car that sat on the curb, just waiting to be driven.

Florence felt a small cry escape from her throat as she was jerked by her brother down the street and away from the mob of murderers. Her long, brunette hair flew in the wind as her long legs pounded down the concrete after her brother. She was suddenly yanked to a stop by the red convertible that was parked on the curb. Her eyes flashed open in terror. Not from stealing a car, and not from the angry mob behind them.

From the fact that her brother was driving.

Romano quickly pulled on the handle and helped his sister slide into the passenger's seat. The second her foot was in the car, he slammed the door shut, ran around the hood, and jumped his side of the car, sinking into the driver's seat.

There was shards of glass all over the floor and dashboard from the broken windshield. Laying on the leather of the large backseat were several papers, a manila folder, and a single, shiny bullet the size of his fingernail.

Turning back to the stick shift, Romano quickly set it in reverse and slammed on the pedals, causing a earsplitting squeal to erupt into the air as the spinning tires met the hot asphalt roads. The car suddenly jerked backwards, sending the siblings launching forward, caught by their seatbelts.

"Romano! Look out!" Florence yelped, clutching his right arm and pointing through the small hole in the windshield.

Romano followed her gaze and almost screamed out in terror as he saw the entire mob of killers racing towards their car, their beefy legs pumping vigorously.

They had realized who they were.

"Florence, hold on!" Romano cried before setting the car into drive.

The wheels let out one more long, painful screech before the car leaped into action, causing them to crash back into their seats violently. The engine rumbled loudly as the tiny car sped down the road at an amazing speed. Romano tried to avoid some of the oncoming members of the crowd, but ended up having to knock some of them to the ground instead. Tearing through the mob, he swerved in and out of the sea of black and gray fedoras, _attempting _to not hit any of the attackers.

Suddenly, Romano felt small dents forming in the sides and back of the vehicle.

"Romano, they're shooting at us!" Florence cried, eyes wide with fear.

Just before he could respond, a bullet sailed by right next to Florence's head, causing her to scream bloody murder and duck down. Hands over her head, she looked like a school girl performing what to do in a tornado drill.

"Oh God, Florence! Are you alright?" Romano yelled out, violently swerving to the left side of the street.

"No. Your driving is making me sick!" she muttered, leaning forward and clutching her stomach.

Romano sighed quietly before having to jerk to the right again to avoid the attackers and the dead bodies lying on the road and sidewalk. Suddenly slamming on the gas pedal, he tore through the last people of the crowd, leaving them crippled on the road. Ignoring the several bullets being shot into the car, Romano made a fast, sharp turn onto the street that separated them from the chaos that they left behind.

Romano let out a sigh of relief as the convertible whisked down the calm, silent street that would soon take them to freedom.

* * *

Spain cringed at the deafening explosions that were happening all around him. With each bomber plane that streaked across the morning sky, a new bomb was released, included several petrifying screams of pure terror.

It was Hell, alright, and Spain was not sure if he could take it anymore.

He could not help but think of the world above him and what type of destruction had polluted the streets. Deep in the underground railway tunnels, Spain was safe.

But Romano and Florence were not.

Suddenly, another bomb crashed down onto the earth above, this time sending chunks of soil and dirt raining down on him, which sent dust and smoke flying everywhere.

_Florence…_

Spain knew she was terrified. She was a very independent, beautiful girl, but she was still young and inexperienced with these types of things. He could picture her long, brunette hair permanently stained with the color of gun smoke, and her bright, amber eyes fading to a coal black from the depression. Her normal, cheerful self would be forever gone now, he was sure of it.

No, he must not think like that.

Romano raised her right, and that was a fact.

_I hope he can protect her just as well, though…_

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind shot through the tunnel at an alarming pace as the enormous, metal door swung open, revealing two darkened silhouettes. The blast of fresh air blew into Spain's face with great force, but it felt amazing on his smooth, tanned skin. The Spaniard opened his bright, hazel eyes to find his two younger siblings dashing towards him.

"Spain!" Florence cried out, running towards him as fast as her legs could carry her body over the large piles of rubble on the ground.

"Mi hermana!" Spain yelled excitedly in his fluent, native tongue.

He opened his arms out to her and embraced her tightly, ignoring the crystal tears that were spilling from his eyes.

"Florence, are you alright? Are you hurt, mi hermosa?" he asked her, setting her down and cupping her cheeks in his rough, sweaty hands.

"She's fine, you tomato bastard," Romano said, walking up from behind Florence.

"Oh, Romano! Thank god, you're alright! You took care of her, didn't you?" Spain asked him with a serious tone in his voice.

"Of course I did. You know very well that I protected her back there," the Italian man replied, wrapping an arm around his sister and pulling her closer to him.

"Fine, but we don't have much time. The rebels are waiting for us to board before _they _catch us."

That was the moment when Florence recognized the presence of the rather large locomotive rumbling on the sleek train tracks. It's black, iron body was glistening, even in the dark, damp tunnels underneath the streets of Rome. It's engine was shaking violently back and forth, as if trying to separate itself from the rest of the train.

"C'mon, Florence," Romano whispered in her ear as he guided her to the front car of the train, trailing like a pair of lost puppies behind Spain.

Spain slid the iron door open and revealed the posh insides of the first class car. The brilliant lights filled the dank tunnel with a golden glow and created long shadows of the train along the rocky walls. It was so blinding, that Florence had to shield her eyes until they adjusted to its brilliance.

Romano gently helped her climb the short stairs up to the train and watched as she slipped out of view and into one of the rows. Clambering in after her, the two brothers had barley sat down next to her before the train's loud, earsplitting engine roared to life and the locomotive took off down the tracks.

Romano watched as his sister just turned her head and stared blankly out of the train's glass windows, admiring the 'interesting' view of the dirt walls in the pitch black underground tunnels. He let out a small sigh and intertwined his cold fingers with hers, gaining her attention.

"It's not your fault, mia bella. Everything will work out soon, te lo prometto," he whispered to her in his sultry, Italian accent.

"R-Romano."

Suddenly, she let out a loud wail and a waterfall of tears spilled from her eyes.

"Romano, what did you do?!" Spain asked, glaring harshly at his younger sibling.

Instead of cursing at his brother, Romano pulled Florence onto his shoulder and hugged her to himself, resting his head on top of hers and stroking her hair.

"Everything will be alright, bella, don't worry," he whispered, kissing her head.

It pained him to see Florence cry. It felt as if his heart was made of fine glass and someone had just smashed it with a hammer.

Florence had no idea why she waited until now to cry. To let all of that pain and sorrow finally be free from inside of her. She cried out all of the horrifying images of her nation's people perishing at the hands of those monsters. She cried out all of the smoke that was choking her lungs and throat for so long. She cried out all of the misery that had been cooped up inside of her ever sense they set foot out onto the streets this morning.

This horrible morning.

The morning that Hell came.

She found herself clutching Romano's button-up shirt like it was her last hope in life. She felt her wet eyelashes stick to his pale skin and her cheek pressing down onto his shoulder wound, which was now dry. She felt his heart being ripped out as he watched her cry her eyes out like the helpless little girl she was.

Helpless.

Maybe that was why she felt so bad.

She was too helpless to save anyone but herself. She was too helpless to handle herself and instead, had to fully rely on her two brothers.

Her wonderful brothers.

How could they love her even when she was this useless and weak? They were two of the strongest people that she knew, yet they still wasted their time and love on her. Their helpless underling.

Florence did not know when she finished crying, or when she fell asleep, but all she knew was that she was leaving.

Leaving her country behind to perish in the depths of Hell.

* * *

Even after she fell asleep, Romano still hugged her tightly to his chest, as if he was protecting her from her own sadness.

As if being with him was the best option for her.

A few hours passed by in pure silence. Spain had fallen into a deep sleep and was quietly snoring beside him. He had been traveling by train nonstop sense this morning. Coming from Madrid and all the way to Rome in less than a few hours had obviously worn him out. Romano watched as several Spanish rebels whisked by them, rushing in and out of the train car, fixing one broken part or another. Occasionally, one would notice the three siblings and let out a sympathetic smile for their nations' futures.

If there was a future at all.

Romano craned his neck over his sister's head to look at the view outside of his window. A lush, vast countryside was hurtling past the train, revealing only small glimpses of the tall grasses and farmland that took residence there.

It appears they had made it to Germany after all.

After about another hour of travel, the train suddenly came to an alarming stop and let out a long, earsplitting whistle, signaling their arrival in Berlin.

Spain's hazel eyes fluttered open and he slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked over at his little siblings. Florence was still fast asleep on Romano's shoulder, and he was still comforting her as if she was still awake.

"Hey, Romano? How is she?" he asked, leaning over to stroke her soft cheek.

"She's exhausted. I think we should let her sleep for a while," he said, brushing her fallen hair out of her face and smiling.

He was smiling.

Spain never knew just how happy Florence made his brother until that moment.

He was seeing a completely different side to Romano ever sense this morning.

He was not just some little, procrastinating, lazy child anymore.

He was an adult.

"Sure," Spain replied as he stood up.

Romano slipped one hand under the bend in Florence's legs and the other securely around her lower back. He steadied himself as he stood up carefully with Florence still in his arms. Here he was, a devil carrying a fallen angel.

The three siblings stepped off of their train and watched as it roared to life again and sped off into the distance, far away from the city.

Little did they know, that the rebels were violently murdered the moment they returned to Rome.

* * *

Author's Note:

Translations:

1) Mi Hermana- my sister in Spanish

2) Mi Hermosa- my beautiful in Spanish

3) Mia Bella- my beautiful in Italian

4) Te lo prometto- I promise in Italian

I'm sorry if those translations were wrong, but hey, I speak French and English, not Spanish or Italian.

Hmm...who are these mysterious attackers who are murdering everyone in Italy? Will the siblings ever get their nation back to its former glory? Does Romano have some romantic feelings for Florence? All will soon be revealed in the next chapters!


	2. Chapter Two: To Fix a Broken Heart

Author's Note

Warnings For This Chapter:

1. OC

2. Mild Language

3. Prussia Awesomeness

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, but lately, I've been really busy, but luckily, I caught a pretty bad chest cold, so now I have an excuse to write on my laptop all day without any interuptions for hours on end! Thanks everyone, and I hope you like it!

* * *

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty! Your awesome prince is here to steal a kiss!"

"Shut up, you damn bastard! Can't you see that she's sleeping?"

"Yes. Sleeping with you, that is. Have you seized her vital regions yet, or will I have to?"

"Now, now, Gilbert. He would never do that to her, would you, Romano?"

There was silence after that as Florence's bright, amber eyes fluttered open to see a blushing Romano sitting up in the bed next to her. Instead of his pink, button-up shirt, he was wearing a jet black undershirt, which revealed his toned muscles; making Florence blush. Even though the silk, white comforter covered his legs, she knew very well that he was wearing his Italian flag boxers, which made her blush even harder.

"Ah, so the beautiful princess awakes!"

There was something oddly familiar about that voice.

Was it the strong, German accent, or the odd laugh that ended his sentence?

Florence sat up and looked around the strange room.

Standing next to her bed was her brother, Spain and a tall, strangely good-looking man with white as snow hair and bright, scarlet eyes that seemed to be hiding many, many things behind them. The stranger was dressed in a black t-shirt with German writing and a beer bottle on it in gray. He wore black, plaid pajama pants and a pair of black house slippers. A wide, mischievous smirk was cast upon his face.

"So," he said, crouching down and stroking her cheek softly, "_you're _the beautiful Florence that Romano has told me so much about! You know, you're far more beautiful than he gives you credit for!"

Florence could not help but blush as the Prussian flirted with her.

"Blushing isn't helping my growing erection, meine schön! It only makes you cuter!" he growled seductively as he lightly cupped her scarlet cheek.

"Get your hands off of her right now, you bastard!" Romano threatened.

The Prussian let out a soft laugh before standing up to his full height again.

"What? I can't help it if I'm highly attracted to your sister! She's quite the beauty, you know?" he teased, smirking at her.

"I know," Romano said softly, stealing an adoring look at her.

"So, Florence," the strange man began, "I'm guessing that you've had a rough day yesterday; seeing as how much you slept. You were sleeping from the moment I saw you in the depot, and through the entire drive home! Why, you even slept through the big, German dinner I made for you last night!"

Florence blinked a few times; not realizing just how long she had slept.

"Where am I? Toni, who is this man?" she asked softly.

Antonio cast a quick look at his silver-haired friend before crouching down in front of his sister. His yellow and orange undershirt clung tightly to his body as he talked to her.

"This is my friend, Gilbert Beilschmidt. We're going to be staying in his house for a while," he said simply.

Florence stared at her brother for a spell before turning her gaze back to the so-called, "Gilbert", who was already dusting himself off and heading towards the bedroom door.

"Well, now that we're introduced, I'm going to leave you two to it! Florence, if you ever want to have a better partner to sleep with, I'll be next door! I hope you like rose petals!"

With a wink and a smirk, he was off, striding down the hallway and dragging Antonio behind him.

* * *

It took everything Romano had in him not to get up and punch that smirk right off Gilbert's face. Prussia knew very well how he felt about Florence. So, why would he joke around like that?

Or, was he joking?

No, he was definitely joking. After all, he was Prussia! He joked about _everything_! Besides, he could never be in love with Florence.

Could he?

Could he possibly find love again after all these years? After having his heart ripped out so many times?

Yes. He certainly could.

* * *

Gilbert smiled to himself as he fell back onto his bed with his hands behind his head.

That Florence was something else.

She definitely took after Feliciano in looks. You could even see a bit of Lovino and Toni in her, as well.

That long, brown, almost auburn hair was so smooth and soft. Those bright, beautiful, amber eyes that showed so much emotion. A whole story could be told with those gems.

And her skin.

Oh, that pale, snow white skin.

It was a gift straight from Heaven.

The Prussian let out a soft chuckle.

What was he doing? As if he actually believed in such a paradise. As if he actually had a shot with her. As if he could actually stand having his heart broken _again. _

No. He was _not _going to give up that easily. He was _not _going to mess up again. He was _not _going to hurt her like the rest, because she was different than the rest.

No. She was special, he could tell.

And she was about to be his.

* * *

Author's Note

Translations:

1. Meine Schön- "My Beautiful" in German

Again, I'm really sorry for the long wait and for this chapter being a bit boring and shorter than the first, but to make it up to you guys, I'm posting two chapters at once! Don't expect this all the time, though. I usually don't have this much time with my writing! I'm trying my best, though, just for you guys!

Questions to Think About:

Will Romano ever tell Florence how he feels? What did Prussia do that broke his own heart so badly? Will he fail in love yet again?


	3. Chapter Three: Relocation

Author's Note

Warnings For This Chapter:

1. OC

2. Bad Language

3. Awesome Prussia Moment

Alright guys and gals! Here is my second chapter that I promised! I know that the previous chapter was both boring and short, but to make up for that and for being gone for so long, I went out of my way to make this chapter _beyond_ epic! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

PS- Prussia lovers, I recommend having a box of tissues nearby, fore the epicness of all that is Gilbert Beilschmidt is about to come!

* * *

A blinding, tangerine light lit up the bedroom like a forest wildfire. A loud, deafening explosion was all that Florence needed to tell what was going on.

_They_ had found them again.

It was over.

It was well past midnight when the first bombs were dropped over the city of Oberhavel; only twenty-eight miles away from Berlin. The pitch black, starless sky was suddenly illuminated with a pale shade of orange with every explosion. Screams of pain and suffering tore through the midnight sky and echoed over the capital city.

As if they were Death calling out to his victims.

Florence, upon instinct, whirled around to wake Romano, only to find the bed empty and with her all alone in the room. She covered her mouth and gasped as tears fell from her eyes.

So, she would die alone after all.

Without the warmth of his body and his arms around her.

Without even saying goodbye.

Just then, a different light flooded into the dark room as the door to the empty bedroom was thrown open; revealing the silhouette of a man.

A man with glowing, red eyes.

* * *

When the bombing over Oberhavel had commenced, Gilbert's bedroom door had been kicked down and his bed had been surrounded by the emotionless faces of German soldiers.

Ludwig's soldiers.

Bolting upright, he yelled out in anger, "Why the hell did you break into meine room? There's a damn door, so use it!"

Before any of them could respond to the Prussian's question, a bomb was released onto the outskirts of Berlin, which shook the whole house.

"Because of _that_!" an old, bitter soldier answered; jabbing a fat finger towards the window.

Gilbert muttered something undetectable and scrambled out of his bed; running to the window. Peering through the dusty, ancient glass, his scarlet orbs scanned the midnight sky before widening from fear.

Only a few miles away, Gilbert could see the thousands of warplanes that dotted across the sky.

Bombs.

They were everywhere.

Like a disease, they spread across the city, falling from the heavens and detonating the instant they hit the concrete; killing tens, maybe even hundreds of people with each explosion. The dozens of screams were all he needed to hear to know that.

It took every ounce of power in his body to tear his eyes away from that window and turn to face the soldiers without strangling each and every one of them to death. Without a word, he broke out into a sprint as he raced out of the room and down the hallway where Florence's room was. He ignored the curses from the soldiers. He ignored the shaking from the impact. He ignored everything around him as he turned that doorknob and swung the door to her room open.

* * *

There she was.

Sitting on the barren bed with her back turned and her hands in her lap.

He ran over to the bed and kneeled down in front of her. Lifting her face with his hands, he whispered her name.

"Florence?"

Once her eyes met his, he saw the tears that were falling down her cheeks, and immediately, he knew.

"Romano's not here, is he?" he asked; his voice barely above a whisper.

All she could do was nod before the tears began to stream down her face. Gilbert averted his eyes as she wept. He had seen those types of tears too many times.

_Never again._

Suddenly, another bomb was dropped onto the ground. This time, bits of the roof caved in and fell all around them.

This house was coming down, and it did not care if they were inside of it or not.

"C'mon, leibe."

He stood, grabbed her hand, and began sprinting out of the room; dodging falling pieces of the ceiling on his journey through the hallway and down the staircase. The soldiers were right behind them and barking orders in German left and right. Pulling Florence along behind him, Gilbert led her through the pitch black hallway and to the front door, which had already been kicked down by the Germans. Running out into the outside world, he slowed to a stop at the sight of Antonio and Lovino being dragged away by a few soldiers.

"Let go of me you bastards! I'll send you to Hell for this! Florence is in that house and there's no way I'm leaving without her!" Romano was yelling; his limbs flailing and wrestling their way out of the Germans' strong grips.

Antonio was shouting out something in Spanish. Something harsh and violent sounding.

"Stop them! Please!" Florence cried out, grabbing Prussia by the shirt collar and looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He nodded firmly before yelling at the soldiers, "Stoppen order ich werde sie schießen alle und lassen sie die hände des feindes zu sterben!"

Suddenly, the soldiers released the two brothers and shot harsh looks at the Prussian, who clearly had sent a deadly threat their way. They shoved Spain and Romano towards them in a rage before turning on their heels and storming down the empty street to the next house.

Gilbert watched them go with a look of utter disgust on his face.

_You heartless, little bastards._

* * *

Romano hit the ground as the rough hands that held his arms behind his back threw him down with overwhelming strength.

_Those bastards are going to pay. _

Romano's hurt body flinched as a pair of soft, gentle hands lightly rubbed his back and arms. He cracked his eyes open to find Florence sitting on her knees and smiling down softly at him.

"I'm here, Roma," she whispered.

_Roma_.

He liked that.

"Flo," he muttered out with a bright smile.

His smile grew even brighter as he watched her smile and blush at the newly-given nickname.

God, he loved her blush.

Romano shivered as Florence lightly stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

"You're so cold, Roma," she whispered, stroking his cheek some more.

Before he could respond, another bomb was cast upon the city, this time, hitting right inside the walls of Berlin. There was ash and smoke everywhere and the sky was painted a soft tangerine color.

"We need to leave. Now," Gilbert ordered, helping Spain to his feet.

Florence nodded and lifted Romano carefully under the shoulders.

"Grazi, mio angelo," Romano whispered, holding onto her.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she smiled at him and held him close.

"Of course, Roma."

* * *

As the four of them walked down the abandoned streets of Berlin, Germany, Gilbert kept a close eye on the three siblings.

He had a plan for them.

For their escape out of this fucking hellhole.

He had done his part. Now, Arthur had to do his.

Earlier that day, Gilbert had entrusted his British drinking buddy, Arthur Kirkland, with the wellbeing of the fugitive countries. He knew that it would not be long before _they _found out that they were hiding out in their ally's house. It was only a matter of time before they had to be relocated. He knew that the farther north in Europe they went, the safer they would be.

As for him, only God knew that.

_I think it's time I pay Little Ludwig a visit. _

Gilbert led the three nations in and out of alleyways, wooded areas, and around the backs of tall skyscrapers and houses in hopes of avoiding being seen by any hovering warplanes. He only hoped that Arthur would be on time and waiting at the end of this long, dark road.

The sky was becoming black again with every step they took. Farther and farther away from the hell and utter madness that was behind him.

It seemed close to an hour before Gilbert stopped at the entrance to a private, German airfield. Standing on the other side of the gate was a young man with soft, blond hair and the world's bushiest eyebrows. His emerald green eyes glowed like a cat's in the night and served as a flashlight for them.

Gilbert watched as Arthur approached them from the opposite side of the chain link fence. Climbing up the fence, Arthur leaped off the top, landing right in front of Prussia.

"Long time no see, Gil. I just wish it wasn't like this," he said; a thick, British accent and a smirk hanging off of every word.

Gilbert nodded and returned the smirk.

"Ja. I'd much rather be in a bar hitting on feisty English girls than be stuck in the midst of Hell, running for our lives."

Arthur let out a soft laugh before speaking again, "Well, _you _were the one hitting on girls. I was the one drinking and being a sober gentleman."

At this remark, Prussia let loose a boisterous, odd laugh that sounded much like a snake hissing.

"_You_ being the sober one?" he asked between laughs.

Arthur was _not _amused and his thick eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

"Anyway, enough chit-chat. Who am I hauling off with me back to London?" he asked, eyeing the three siblings behind the Prussian.

Regaining his composure, Gilbert smirked and placed a hand on Spain's shoulder.

"Well, first, you're taking meine boy, Toni!"

Antonio raised an eyebrow and scowled harshly at the British man.

"I hope you know that my rebels are at home keeping my battle axe nice and shiny for occasions like this," he threatened.

Arthur's frown continued to grow.

"Hello to you too, Antonio," he growled through gritted teeth.

Not sensing the mood, Prussia gave Romano a little push on the back.

"And secondly, his little brother, Lovino! Good luck handling this one."

Romano muttered a curse at Gilbert before acknowledging England.

"Hey, gentleman bastard," was all he said.

Arthur took greater offense to this comment.

"Hello, tomato wanker," he said with a faint smirk.

Now, Gilbert was lightly walking Florence up to Arthur. He gave her a good, little push and a small tap on the rear before stepping back and smiling.

"Now, Arthur, I'm entrusting you with a very delicate flower; a fine treasure. The most beautiful, Italian girl you'll ever lay eyes on. This, meine dear friend, is Florence Vargas," he said with adoring eyes.

As Arthur gazed down to look at the girl that Prussia was describing, his scowl faded away and all that was left was a gaping mouth and a slight blush.

"W-why hello there, love. I-I don't believe w-we've met. I-I'm Arthur Kirkland," he finally managed to say.

As a polite gesture, he lightly took her hand and kissed the back of it.

Florence blushed harder with every word and turned completely red when his soft lips touched the back of her hand.

"H-Hi. It's very nice to meet you," was all she could say.

Straightening up to his full height and clearing his throat out of awkwardness, Arthur said, "W-Well, my air force has secured a private jet, courtesy of the United Kingdom, to take all of us to London, where you lot will be residing for a good while."

Gilbert took his eyes off of Florence's rear and gained everyone's attention.

"Actually, this is where my involvement in this tragic tale ends, well, at least for a while. I need to get you three out of here and to somewhere safe, _then _worry about where I'm headed to next."

Arthur looked puzzled.

"Gilbert, this is total bullocks! What are you rambling on about?"

"Arthur, I'm not coming with you to London. I'm staying here, with meine little brother, if he'll let me. I need to make sure that meine country is alright before I can help any further."

"But Gilbert, you're not really a nation any-"

"I know, but this is where the Teutonic Empire once stood and here is where it will always stand. I am the awesome Prussia and I always will be, even if no one else recognizes me. I will fight to the death for meine country, and I won't stop until my last dying breath is released. Prussia may be dead, but Gilbert Beilschmidt will live on."

There was silence.

Then, there was a hug.

Gilbert looked down to see Florence hugging his body close to hers.

"Don't leave, Prussia. You can't," she whispered so only he could hear.

He smiled sadly and stroked her hair.

"Don't worry, meine leibe. It won't be forever. Trust me, you'll see me again, a lot sooner than you think! It may be in the battle field; it may be on the streets of London. It may even be next to you in your bed! Who knows, but you _will _see me again. That is a promise. A Prussian promise."

And with that, he stuck out his pinkie finger and held it up to her.

Florence giggled and wrapped her pinkie around his.

"A Prussian promise," she quoted.

"Good! Now, I can leave easy knowing that you're happy," he said softly.

Without warning, he grabbed her shoulders and kissed her nose lightly, which caused her to blush like mad.

"Good luck, meine schön. I-Ich leibe dich. And it is because of that that I will be running back to you. Soon." he said with a smile before sprinting off.

"Wait!" Florence called.

He stopped and turned back to face her.

"Ja?"

"What does 'Ich leibe dich' mean?" she asked curiously.

He blushed slightly and smiled.

"When we meet again, you'll find out. Another Prussian promise."

And with that, he was off; sprinting into the horizon at an incredible pace.

Florence watched him go with a soft smile and a small wave. That was the hardest part of everything that had happened in the past few days.

Saying goodbye.

* * *

Author's Note

Translations:

1. Leibe/ Meine Leibe: Love/ My Love in German

2. "Stoppen order ich werde sie schießen alle und lassen sie die hände des feindes zu sterben!": "Stop or I will shoot you all and leave you to die at the hands of the enemy!" in German

3. Grazi: Thank You in Italian

4. Mio Angelo: My Angel in Italian

5. Ja: Yes in German

6. Meine Schön: My Beautiful in German

7. Ich Leibe Dich: ?

Okay, so most of you probably already know what Ich Leibe Dich means, but for those of you who don't, please don't look it up! It'll be a nice, little surprise soon to come in the future, and for those of you who do, I can't wait to write that scene, so I would appreciate it greatly if you didn't spoil what it means for the people who don't know! Thanks!

Alright, sorry for all of you Prussia lovers, myself included, but he might be out of the picture for just a few chapters. Who knows, I may mention him once or twice, but I'll see.

Questions to Think About:

What will be the fate of the people of Germany? Is Arthur developing feelings for Florence, too? Will Gilbert ever find love and happiness with Florence?


	4. Chapter Four: The British Are Coming

Author's Note

Warnings:

1. OC

2. Bad Language

Well, it's raining like hell where I live, so I decided that it was the perfect weather to stay inside all day and write my fourth chapter, and by God I was right! I was so excited to get some Englence (EnglandxFlorence) fluff in this story! Well, as always, I hope you enjoy! It's finally a chapter that picks right up after the previous one!

* * *

_Ich leibe dich. _

Florence seemed to be holding onto those words- those distant memories- as if her life depended on it. Gilbert's thick, German accent ran through her mind repeating those few words over and over as if it was a song stuck on replay.

_How long, Gilbert? How long do I wait? _

Her train of thought was interrupted by a soft, sultry British accent whispering in her ear.

"C'mon, love. You're not safe here."

Florence turned to look up into a pair of sharp, emerald eyes. The eyes that had captivated her ever since she saw them.

Arthur turned on his heels and began to briskly walk back towards the chain link fence that separated the narrow dirt road from the private, German airbase; his shaggy, blond hair blowing softly in the breeze. She watched as Romano and Toni followed him reluctantly.

Before hurrying after them, Florence took a long, last look at the horizon, hoping to see a bobbing, silver head shinning against the sliver of sunlight.

But she did not.

* * *

Arthur threw the gate to the airfield open and stepped through the entrance.

He was more than ready to get out of this place.

He never really cared much for Berlin, Germany. Especially not when it was an office for Hell to work in.

When he had received the word from Gilbert those several hours ago, he did not know what to think. He never had a special bond with Feliciano and his brothers, and he never even knew that they had a sister. So, why did he even come? Why was he risking both himself _and_ his nation just to help them?

_Only God knows that. _

The moment Arthur stepped into the base, a tall, muscular man with sandy blond hair and dressed in a dirty military uniform approached them with a tight scowl upon his face. A series of German words spilled out of his mouth in harsh tones and a rough voice. Arthur listened carefully to what the man had to say before responding calmly in the exact same language.

Alongside Spanish and French, Arthur was quite good at German. He had been studying it over the years and had learned to recognize it from none other than Ludwig himself. He never really understood why foreign language came so easily to him when it troubled so many others. Maybe he was gifted. Maybe he was talented.

Maybe he was brilliant.

_Absolutely _brilliant.

* * *

Florence listened carefully as Arthur spoke in that harsh language as if it were his own. The words and articulations all appeared to be highly accurate. If he had never spoken to Florence and revealed his sultry, British accent, he would have easily passed as another German.

As the British gentleman finished his sentence, the general nodded, saluted, and looked right into Florence's eyes. His eyes were a magnificent pale blue; almost gray, actually. His hair, the color of sand, was neatly cut and shaved around his ears and face. A pair of wireframe glasses sat lightly on his nose.

"Follow me," he muttered softly, taking a pause to carefully select his words.

It was obvious that he was nowhere near being fluent in English.

Suddenly, a brilliant blaze of fire exploded in the distance; filling the airbase with blinding shades of red and yellow. Florence shielded her eyes. Not because she could not see.

Because she _did not _want to see.

"_Now_."

Florence jumped as the German general barked the single word in her ear. Looking up she saw Romano, Antonio, and Arthur sprinting ahead towards a line of empty, German warplanes on a runway. The man gave her a rather violent shove forward.

"Go!" he yelled.

And so she did. Running as fast as she could to catch up with the three men in front of her. Arthur had ran ahead and was already talking quickly to a German standing guard at the entrance to one of the warplanes. He nodded and moved aside, allowing Arthur to slip past into the first row of the plane.

"Hermana!" Toni cried as she practically crashed into him.

Grabbing onto her brother, Florence stopped herself from slamming into the side of the plane. She felt Toni wrap his arms around her protectively, as he always did when he knew she was scared.

She always felt so safe with him.

"Antonio, I appreciate your help, but I'm afraid that that's _my_ job," Romano said, lightly grabbing Florence's hand.

The Spaniard nodded and released his sister.

"I know. And you're good at it, Romano," he said quietly before ascending the stairs up to the door of the plane.

Suddenly, just before Toni entered the warplane, the German soldier was back and was barking something harsh sounding in German. The alarmed look on Antonio's face said it all.

He _did not _understand a damn thing.

"Es ist in ordnung, sind sie mit mir," Arthur calmly said, appearing around the corner and smiling down at Antonio with satisfaction.

Toni let out something that sounded an awful lot like a growl.

"Geldstrafe," the German said as he left the doorway.

But not before giving Antonio a hate-filled scowl.

Arthur let out a soft chuckle that made Florence's heart flutter. Why?

Toni shoved his way past the British man and ventured into the plane. Romano lightly pulled Florence by the hand up the stairs and let go as he walked inside. A small smile tugged at his lips before he disappeared into the plane.

"Love, are you ready?" Arthur asked softly, a very faint pink coating his pale cheeks.

He extended his hand out to her with a smile. His extraordinary eyes were shimmering in the rising sun and his green, military jacket was blowing softly in the wind.

Taking his hand, Florence said, "Thank you."

Arthur's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise.

"Why, whatever for," he asked, still holding her hand.

"For helping us. I know you didn't have to."

Arthur's shocked expression fell and he smiled lightly.

"You're welcome."

And with that, he led her into the plane.

The inside was very tight and cramped; a claustrophobic person's nightmare. A battered, German flag was loosely hung in the very front of the plane, just above the door to the pilot's nest. The inside walls were painted a light, forest green and the seats were covered with an ancient, navy cloth.

Arthur lightly pulled her to the empty second row, right behind a very jealous Romano.

"Ladies first," he said politely, gesturing for her to enter the row.

She nodded a thank you and slipped into the second seat next to the window. Looking out, she saw a nearby building explode as a small, yet deadly bomb hit it from above. The airfield was then again covered with several, bright colors of fire.

She pressed a hand against the glass and watched as the causality numbers rapidly rose.

_Just who were these monsters?_

"You hate war, don't you?"

Florence quickly turned her head away from the window to come face to face with Arthur.

"I mean, you hate the deaths that follow. The mass amount of lost lives. It hurts you, doesn't it?" he asked, looking at the back of the seat in front of him.

"I do. It's just that everyone is so innocent and unarmed. They have no reason to be killed. They never even saw it coming," she responded softly, returning her gaze to the window.

Just before he could reply, the plane jerked forward and began to soar down the runway at an alarming speed. Florence had taken her eyes off the glass and was glancing frightfully around the inside of the plane. In a matter of seconds, which seemed like minutes to them, the aircraft threw itself into the air against the will of gravity and took off into the morning sun. Once high enough, the small wheels on the bottom collapsed and returned to the inside of the plane as the speed decreased.

They were on their way to London; the capital city of the United Kingdom.

* * *

Arthur sank back into his seat with a sigh of relief. He always dreaded that part of the ride. To be quite honest, he hated accelerating heights in general.

Rubbing his temples with his fingers, he relaxed and slowly opened his eyes for the first time since they began moving. That was his technique to keep from throwing up his morning tea.

Glancing over at Florence, he saw her staring at him with great concern.

Her face was very close to his.

Lowering his hands and moving his body back a bit, he blushed and muttered something undetectable.

"Arthur, are you alright?" she asked, backing up a bit herself.

"Y-Yes, I'm fine," he said, lying through his teeth.

He could feel his cheeks glowing blood red and his body temperature getting hotter. Why was he blushing? Many people had been closer than that to him, and he was completely fine with it. So, what was so special about that?

"Are you sure?" she asked, her face displaying an enormous amount of concern for him.

"Yes, I do believe so. That was one hell of a takeoff, though," he said, trying to avoid her gaze.

_God, those amber eyes are so bright and beautiful; like a doe's._

That was when he finally noticed that she was still in her nightgown. She was wearing a frilly, green gown that was _very_ thin and came down just above her knees. The cuffs, waist, and hem of the dress were covered by a thin strip of pink lace. She was wearing a pair of worn out flats that were showered with dirt.

Arthur's blush continued to grow at the exposed skin and the innocent outfit.

"What is it?" she asked curiously.

Arthur's face was completely red by now.

"Er, w-well you're still wearing your pajamas, and-"

His voice trailed off as he rubbed the back of his head; a _really_ bad habit of his when he was blushing.

_There ought to be a bump from all the times I've rubbed it today. _

"O-Oh," Florence said, her voice faltering as it was her turn to blush.

She did not think it was such a big deal, but his insane blush said otherwise.

* * *

Romano sank down in his chair and glared across the isle at Antonio, who was looking at him with one of those sympathetic expressions of his.

He knew why he was so angry.

That was when he mouthed, "Sorry!"

Romano's head was deluged with swear words as he heard that British bastard flirt with _his_ Florence.

His amber eyes darted back to his brother's ever-so changing hazel ones. Right now, they were almost a golden color.

"That piece of shit is going to pay! I swear it!" he mouthed angrily.

* * *

Toni's eyes widened for a moment.

_Romano's hurting, isn't he?_

Of course, Lovino would never admit it, but he was _not_ mad. At least not _nearly_ as much as he was upset. You could just read it in his eyes. It pained him to see Florence be happy with another guy.

No, "pained" was _not_ the right word here.

But "killed" was.

He was overflowing with sadness, Antonio just knew it. It was all over his face; especially in his eyes.

Suddenly, Romano squeezed his eyes shut and a single tear fell from them.

Staring at him with concern, Toni caught the gaze of his brother, who was starting to silently cry.

Hesitantly, he mouthed, "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Romano blushed heavily and wiped his tears away, but he never responded.

His blush said it all.

_The answer's yes, isn't it, Lovino? _

* * *

Author's Note

Translations:

1. Ich leibe dich- ?

2. Hermana- Sister in Spanish

3. "Es ist in ordnung, sind sie mit mir"- "It is alright, they are with me" in German

4. Geldstrafe- Fine in German

I know what you're about to say. "England is so cute when he blushes!" I know, honey, I know! Anyways, I apologize if any of those translations are incorrect, but I take French, so you can rely on my English and French _only_!

In the next few chapters or so, I might be posting a poll for you guys! It'll probably be an Englence vs. Flormano poll, just to see who's winning! How does that sound?

Questions to think about:

How will Romano be able to handle Arthur's oncoming feelings for Florence? Does Florence have some sort of feelings for him as well? Which team are you on? Englence or Flormano? Or maybe, even Prussence?


	5. Chapter Five: Just One Kiss

Author's Note

Hey guys! I finally have the fifth chapter up for you all! I've been working pretty hard on this all week long when I _should've _been completing my make-up work. Oops! Oh well, I consider this worth it. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! Happy reading!

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

_Dear Diary, _

_It's been a whole day since I last saw her. Berlin has fallen apart and is practically a pile of ash and dead bodies. _

_Black. That's the color of the sky. To many damn fires are still growing and filling the air with smoke. Mein awesome lungs can't seem to take it much longer. _

_But I have to keep fighting. Fighting for meine leibe. I'm determined to treat Florence right, not like the last one. I can't bear to go through that type of pain again. Loosing her would be the death of me, I'm sure. If another tragic heartbreak doesn't kill the awesome me, then I'd do the job myself. _

_She's special. I just know it._

_Why am I attracted to her, you may ask? I don't know. _

_Yes, she's sexy. Very sexy. _

_Milk white skin and auburn hair. _

_Yes, that sexy. _

_But it's not just that. Well, it's mostly that, but there's more! I don't know what quality is more important than sexiness, but whatever it is, she's definitely got it. She's worth dieing for, that's for sure. _

_And that is why I am fighting in this hell of a war. For her. _

_Not for Ludwig. Not for Antonio. Not for Francis._

_For Florence. _

_But that was what I said the last time before my heart was shattered, wasn't it? I was blind, but now I see. Is that how that lame song goes? I think so, but then again, I'm too awesome to care. _

_I've been staying with Ludwig since last night. Turns out, he's been saving my old bedroom just in case if I ever decided to come back. I think I even saw him smile once. He should stop. It looks stupid. _

_I was looking through my old closet and I found something. Something I fear that I will have to wear very soon. I hope it doesn't scare meine frau. When I first laid eyes on it, I was immediately reminded of the 1940's; the darkest point in mein brother's life. _

_In mine, as well._

_I put it in the back for now, but something tells me that it's time to try it on again. Soon. _

_- Gilbert Beilschmidt_

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Arthur watched _her _sleep with a soft smile.

She truly did look like an angel.

Her head was supported by the glass window and her hands were folded in her lap. Her ankles were crossed and a slight smile was spread across her face.

_Why is my heart racing like this?_

Before he had time to ponder this, a chunk of the plane's roof suddenly fell in as its tail was blown to pieces in the middle of the sky.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Arthur yelled out.

Antonio turned his head and all of his hostility towards the British man seemed to be gone for the moment.

"We've been hit!" he cried.

There was fear in his eyes. Arthur could see it as clear as day.

_Toni, you were once such a fearless person. What happened? _

Suddenly, another explosion hit the aircraft, this time tearing more of the roof away and destroying the back-left wall of the plane. Cold and fast air rushed into the warplane like a tsunami flooding a small village.

_We're going down, aren't we?_

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Florence woke up with a start as an earsplitting explosion hit the side of the plane.

_No. Not again! Please!_

Sitting up, she grabbed Arthur's hand and gained his attention. She seemed to be searching for some sort of help in those beautiful eyes of his. Her cheeks were streaked with salty tears as he turned to face her.

"Love, don't be frightened. I've made it my duty to protect you through this catastrophe. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear," he said softly, cupping her face in his hands and wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Then, he just stared. Stared at her.

Those gorgeous, emerald orbs were boring into her amber ones as if they were trying to tell her something. A story, perhaps.

"I _swear_," he repeated.

Florence slowly nodded and turned her gaze to look out of the window. She lightly pressed her hand and the bridge of her nose to the glass. The once fluffy, white clouds were now covered with a thick, black veil of smoke from the burning warplane, but she could vaguely make out the famous city below her. The plane had dropped over two-thousand feet when the tail was destroyed, and now the entire City of Lights could be seen below them.

_I've always wanted to go to Paris, but never like this. _

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Arthur lightly placed a hand on Florence's back as he leaned in to capture the horrendous view from her window. Glancing over her shoulder, his heart sank as he caught a glimpse of the cross-shaped roof of the famous Notre Dame Catholic cathedral.

He knew _exactly _where they were.

And he was already dreading every minute of it.

"Looks like we're taking a bit of a pit stop in Paris," Arthur grumbled to himself.

Suddenly, the plane's engine cut off completely and the small aircraft started to plummet down to Earth. The nose slowly started to dip down to face its target; straight into the ground. Arthur's lungs were ready to let out a scream of bloody murder, but the drop was happening so fast that the air just was not there.

In fact, not a single sound could be heard as the plane tumbled down to the earth below in what seemed like slow motion.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Romano wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Florence and kiss her as the plane fell the remaining feet until it crashed nose first; killing them all upon impact. He wanted nothing more than to tell her of his hidden feelings for her that had been locked up inside of him in that one, meaningful kiss.

_One kiss. That's all I ask. _

No. Instead, Arthur was back there, being her new hero; taking his place.

Romano had seen the way he looked at her when they first met. The lust. The wonder. The love brewing in his bright eyes, the bastard.

But what had hurt him the most was what he saw in her eyes.

The same, exact thing.

Lovino wiped one, last tear from his eyes before letting them all fall, not giving a fuck who sees.

Maybe his heart was right.

"_Romano, she's your sister. Can't you see? It's wrong!_" it always said.

But that's what made it right.

The wrongness of it all. It just felt _so_ right.

It felt right to be with her.

_I love you, Florence, and I always will. _

"Florence!"

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"Romano!" she cried as her brother yelled her name over the roaring wind.

She reached her hand forward as his face became visible between the small opening in the two seats in front of her. There were tears on his face and more spilling from his eyes. Florence felt her heart shatter as his hand held hers.

"Come here, Flo! Please!" he cried.

The Italian girl obeyed and leaned her face forward to come closer to her weeping brother. Just as she stopped leaning, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back.

"I can't let you do that, love. You'll fall!" Arthur whispered in her ear; still holding her body close to his.

Florence watched with sad eyes as Romano's eyes squeezed shut and a waterfall of tears fell down his cheeks.

His voice faltered as he called out to her again.

"Florence, I'm scared that I'm going to loose you!" he cried.

"Romano! Pull yourself together!"

A thick, Spanish voice accented each harsh word as Antonio gained his younger brother's attention. Romano looked shocked for a moment as he saw Toni's face. It was ruthless.

_Fearless. _

The fear that was lingering in those golden eyes before was now gone and what replaced it was almost unreadable.

Lovino turned his head back to Florence to see Arthur holding her close to him; bracing her for the impact. Her hands were covering her face and Romano knew that she was screaming.

"No. Not my Florence," he said; his voice no longer faltering and his tears no longer falling.

As if it took a life of its own, his arm shot forward and grabbed her wrist; yanking her close to him. She gasped and stopped screaming as his face was inches away from hers. She continued to watch him with a shocked expression as his wide eyes began to shut and he started to lean forward.

He was staring at her mouth with lust.

_W-why am I leaning forward, too?_

"R-Roma," she whispered as she found herself inching forward; her mouth waiting for his soft lips to press against hers.

Did she really want this kiss?

_She did. _

She found herself hesitating as his lips gently brushed against hers; ready to kiss. He seemed to be resting them there, as if waiting for her to close the gap. He was longing to kiss her; this was obvious. She stared at their touching lips and waited.

_Is this right; what I'm doing?_

Just as she was about to connect their lips, the plane suddenly stopped falling and righted itself in midair at the sound of something popping in the engine. The noise resembled an ancient car springing to life again after being dead for almost a decade.

She jerked back up and let out a sigh of relief.

Heaven was allowing her see another day.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Arthur felt like his heart being torn apart as he watched Romano pull Florence down to his face and started to lean in to kiss her. It hurt like bloody Hell, though as she began to lean into the kiss as well. He felt as if someone had plunged a sword through his already fragile heart.

_Why does it hurt this much?_

It hurt like Hell because he loved her. He loved Florence more than anyone he had ever felt something for. He loved her more than he knew his heart was capable of.

He loved her and was _not _going to loose her.

Because if he did, Arthur knew that he would never be able to handle it.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Florence sat up and cleared her throat. She looked down at the floor of the plane in an attempt to avoid Arthur's hurt gaze.

_Why did I do that? _

Pressing a light hand to the window again, Florence looked down onto the beautiful city below them.

It was_ so _close_._

The plane must have dropped down to almost eight-hundred feet now, because the tallest buildings in France were almost kissing the bottom of their warplane.

Suddenly, something caught her eye.

_No. Please, no!_

Down below on the curving streets of Paris, France were hundreds- maybe even thousands- of the same terrorists flooding the city and kicking down the front doors to simple family homes. Innocent people were being dragged from the safety of their houses and- in front of their families- were slaughtered to death, either through the means of gun barrel to the head, a knife to the heart, or even a simple, quick twist of the neck.

_Those people were innocent! We're not even in France!_

"Why," she heard herself ask, "would they kill all of those people?"

She forced herself not to cry anymore. Her eyes were already stinging enough.

"Because they're after something. Europe is that something," Arthur responded; looking straight ahead.

Florence turned to face him. Looking at her, Arthur saw the sadness in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Florence, but I will protect you _before_ I even think about those people. I know you want to help them, and as do I, but for right now, _you _are my top priority, not them. Getting you to safety is all I could ever care about right now. I promise it will all be over soon, alright, Love?"

As he finished talking, he became aware of her head on his shoulder and her arm linked with his.

"Thank you, Arthur. For everything," she whispered.

Just as he was about to respond, the plane began to ascend into the sky; all the way upward until it was at the same level as it was before the sudden bombing. Chunks of the tail had been taken out when the bombs had hit it, but just enough was still intact to keep them in the air in order to get to London. After that, they would have to stop for major repairs.

Arthur forgot his hurting heart for a moment as he smiled down at Florence, who was giving him a shy grin as her head laid on his shoulder.

_Looks like we'll be making it to London after all. _

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

When Francis Bonnefoy had opened the envelope addressed to him early this tragic morning, he already knew it was from Gil before he even read the second word. The way that the words flowed onto the paper in jet black ink in such beautiful curves and lines could never belong to anyone _but _the one and only Gilbert Beilschmidt; even if no one else would believe it.

Gil's handwriting was almost always confused with Britain's in the world meetings if he never signed his name. Although, as much as he hated Arthur, Francis had to admit that his handwriting was like a work of pure art.

When the Frenchman had read about this beautiful, Italian girl that Gilbert was so infatuated with, he immediately took interest in the subject, especially when he saw that she was traveling with Lovino, Antonio, and Arthur to London, which was only a short, two hour plane ride away. Francis had no intention of stealing this girl away from Gil, after all, he said he was determined to have her, but he _did_ want to at least see what she was like.

But, that was four hours ago.

Four hours before _they _came.

Now, his hometown of Paris was in a state of panic as the mysterious attackers invaded every house- every neighborhood- and murdered the innocent families that called those buildings their homes.

Not a single woman or child was spared, no matter how much they pleaded for mercy. Every man was killed without hesitation and every young boy was taken down the same way. Child-bearing mothers were not even given a second glance as they were shot to death; their child never getting to take their first, wonderful breaths of life.

Now, Francis was being forced into hiding as his entire country was being destroyed. Everything he had ever loved and fought for was being taken away from him in an instant; right in front of his sky blue eyes. He had been in this French rebel camp with other high ranking members of the republic for only thirty minutes and was already sick of it.

He _had _to stop this.

"Sorry, Florence, but you'll just have to wait. I'm afraid I have a war to join."

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Author's Note

Translations:

1. Meine Leibe- My Love in German

2. Meine Frau- My Beautiful in German

I hope you all enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it! So, did I satisfy all you Flormano fans? Good! Now, Englence fans, don't be upset, because your chapter is coming closer than you think! I hope I did a good enough job with the whole Prussia diary entry! I've always wanted to do one of those, and now seemed the perfect time to do just that!

Questions to think about:

Will Romano ever kiss Florence? Is she starting to have feelings for him, or will she fall for the handsome gentleman, Arthur Kirkland? Will Francis escape Paris alive, or will he start World War III?


	6. Chapter Six: Ready or Not

Author's Note

Warnings for this chapter:

1. OC

2. Terrible Language

3. Changing Feels

Now, if you think you know which team you're on: Prussence, Englence, or Flormano, wait until you read this chapter! Be ready to have your feels moved this beautiful Easter morning!

Anyways, as always, I hope you enjoy and have a very happy Easter!

PS- In advance, I would like to say how crappy I feel for putting all these curse words in here on Easter Sunday, but technically, I wrote this last night, so no harm done, actually! Anyways, so again, sorry for not being very religious on probably one of the holiest days in my religion, but I've got people to please, right Jesus? See y'all, Jesus understands!

* * *

As Gilbert flopped down backwards on his bed, his scarlet eyes shut and reopened in order to release the pent-up stress that had been brewing inside of him.

The damn stress that came from his constant worrying.

He glanced warily at the digital clock on the nightstand beside his head.

It was 3:04 in the morning.

Yet another day gone by spent thinking of _her._

Gilbert could not help but let his train of thought wander off into space as he thought about Florence.

_What if she would not be able to take care of herself out there? What if Arthur and her brothers can not protect her in this war? What if I come to save her and it is already too late?_

_Dammit, Gil! She can handle herself! Get some fucking sleep and stop worrying! _

But he could not stop.

Not while _his _Florence- his _beautiful _Florence- was out there.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Gilbert launched out of his bed to grab the receiver.

"Florence?" he yelled out.

"I don't know why you're so obsessed with this girl, Gil. She must be _beyond _sexy to have you _this _crazy for her! I bet she has one hell of an ass, am I right, mon frere?" a thickly accented voice sang.

Gilbert felt his pale face begin to fume.

"Shut the fuck _up_, Francis!" he yelled.

"Whoa, Gil, I didn't mean to upset you! I'm only trying to find out what's so special about this so-called 'Florence' that you seem to be in love with. What is it about her that makes you so attracted to her?" the Frenchman asked in a more polite manner.

Gilbert sighed heavily before speaking.

"I don't _'seem' _to be in love with her, Francis, I _am _in love with her! I don't know why, but I am!" he said simply.

Gilbert was glad that this conversation was taking place through a phone. Otherwise, Francis would _surely_ be laughing at the growing blush on his cheeks.

"But she's sexy, though, right, Gilbert?" his friend tried to confirm.

Gil could not help but laugh softly at his question.

"_Very_." he said with a soft smile.

"Tres bon! That's all I needed to know!"

Suddenly, a loud banging sound was heard through the phone line and Francis fell silent.

"What the hell is that noise?" Gilbert asked inquisitively.

"_That noise _is what I called you about. I sort of need a favor. Sil vous plait?" he asked; begging in his native tongue.

"Francis, make this fast. It's almost 3:30 in the morning and I'm trying to get some damn sleep."

"Oui, well, let's just say that I hope you have your weapons ready, mon ami, because _they're _here, and coming for London. Coming for Florence."

* * *

As Arthur sipped his hot, Earl Gray tea quietly in the local café, he constantly stole glances at the beautiful, Italian girl sitting across from him at their small, iron table in the corner. He was glad to finally be alone with her and be able to have her all to himself.

The Englishman knew he was being selfish with her and was aware of how wrong it was, but he was loving every minute of it.

Arthur could feel his cheeks growing red again as she caught his gaze. He immediately took interest in the window next to them and rubbed the back of his head.

_What am I doing? I feel like such an idiot!_

_An idiot in love with an angel. _

Florence had been quite surprised when she woke up earlier that morning to a pair of green eyes filled to the brim with secrets and wisdom hovering over her face. Arthur had been rehearsing his speech all throughout the night, instead of getting his rest, mind you, and was fully prepared to ask her to tour the city with him while they still could. Although he sounded much cooler in his head, she still accepted his invitation.

That was all that mattered to him.

Saying yes.

But that was an hour ago, and here they were, having breakfast at his favorite café.

"L-Love, would you like to try a scone?" Arthur asked, attempting to fill the awkward silence.

Florence smiled warmly at him.

"I would love to!" she said before sipping on her coffee again.

Arthur had desperately tried to get her to order a cup of tea instead of that caffeine-filled rubbish, but she insisted on trying one. And thus, Arthur could _never_ say no.

Not to her.

Smiling softly, he slid the small tray of orange scones over to her and watched her as she nibbled around the edges of the British treat.

"These are so good, Arthur! I wish we had these in Rome!" she said while breaking the scone into small pieces.

"Well, I'm glad that you like them! Just eat up, darling, because we're about to do a lot of walking!" he said with a slight smirk.

* * *

"Fuck! What did that bastard do?" Romano yelled in a rage; grabbing at Antonio's shirt collar.

"Calm down, Lovino! You're going to break something!" the Spaniard cried out; struggling to loosen Romano's strong hold on his shirt.

"I'm about to break your damn face, Toni, if you don't tell me what you just said again!" Romano spit out.

Antonio tried to not look frightened, but he could not help it.

It had been about twenty years of raising this kid and he was _still _terrified of what Lovino was capable of doing when he was in a rage.

"I-I said that Arthur asked nuestra hermana if she wanted to tour around London with him this morning and she said yes!" he choked out.

"I'm going to fucking _kill_ that piece of shit!" Romano shouted out; releasing Antonio and pounding his fist into the wall.

Upon impact, a small indention in the paint was created and a huffing Romano was left with a bruised fist.

"Calm down, Lovino! Please! You're going to hurt yourself!" Toni cried in an attempt to stop his fuming, little brother.

"Does it look like a give a fuck, Tomato-Bastard?" Romano screamed.

Suddenly, Spain grabbed Lovino by the shoulders and bore his eyes into his. That was when he noticed that Romano was crying.

"Romano," Toni began; lowering his voice to a softer tone, "please calm yourself! You're going to end up doing something you regret! You know how you get when you're upset! You might even end up hurting Florence!"

Lovino's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before narrowing again.

"Don't _ever_ say that again, you asshole! I would _never_ hurt my love!" he growled; getting close to his brother's face and burning holes into his pupils.

"You're not yourself, Romano! You don't know what you would or wouldn't do!"

Now, _Antonio _was angry.

"I know I would _never _hurt _my _Florence! I fucking love her! Can't you see that, bastard?" Lovino yelled out.

Toni was about to snap back when Romano suddenly threw himself into his brother's arms and began sobbing into his shoulder.

"I fucking love her!" he was saying over and over; his voice muffled by Spain's shirt sleeve.

Antonio sighed.

"I know you do, Romano," he whispered, "I know you do."

* * *

London was truly a beautiful place. Arthur had shown Florence so many gorgeous landmarks including the London Eye, Buckingham Palace, and even the inner city where people roamed the streets and drove their cars down the road in quiet.

Small, quaint houses and cafés were dotted all over the capital city and could be seen from anywhere you looked. Boutiques with the latest in London fashion were filled to capacity with prying eyes and wallet-wielding ladies hunting down their spring wardrobes. Small amounts of wildlife could be seen wandering the streets; squirrels, birds, and even dogs chasing the neighborhood cats.

Life was so abundant and free here. Just the essence of it all could ensnare anyone claiming to just be, "passing through".

The lights, the music, and the people were all so lively and wonderful; it was like a dream.

A dream without the fear of coming face to gun barrel with one of _them_.

Florence longed to stay in this breathtaking city for as long as she could, but she knew she could not.

Deep down inside, she knew that _they _would find her.

No matter where she ran to- those monstersmade this clear- _they _would _always _find her.

Ready or not.

* * *

Romano was lying down on his- actually, _their_- bed and trying his hardest not cry.

Not to let those damn, salty tears stream from his face like the toddler he was.

He stared up at the ceiling for a while before slowly closing his bright, amber eyes and thinking of Florence.

_His _Florence. Not Arthur's.

_Never Arthur's. _

He seemed to be able to feel that soft, wavy hair that appeared to turn a fiery, auburn color in the sun. He seemed to be able to read a story in those magnificent, amber eyes of hers; so big and pretty, that they resembled a doe's. He seemed to be able to lean forward and softly connect their lips like he always wanted to.

Romano opened his eyes again and felt as if reality was giving him yet _another _slap in the face.

There was no Florence beside him in bed. She was not wrapped up in his arms and not blushing softly at his bare chest; yes, he _had_ noticed.

And he thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

He lived for those moments; that blush. The very blush that made him long to kiss her. Long to be with her.

Long to sleep with her.

Lovino wiped the last tears from his eyes before sniffling and sitting up; taking off his undershirt which had been soaked with his own tears.

The moment she came back to him, he would be ready.

Ready to grab her hand, take her away from that British-bastard, and push her down on _their _bed.

Ready to climb on top of her and kiss her.

* * *

"Where are you taking me, Arthur?" Florence asked with a playful laugh.

"You'll love it, darling, I promise!" he laughed.

Arthur was walking directly behind Florence and was covering her amber orbs with his hands.

He had a plan.

"Arthur, where are we going? Answer me!" she cried with a smile.

"I'm sorry, love! No can do!"

The Englishman had taken her all over his hometown and was purposely holding off until now to show her the best part of it all. The reason why most people traveled to London.

Something she would _never _forget.

Florence sighed impatiently and carefully walked with him.

"Then, at least tell me how much farther we have to go! It's almost nightfall and we have to go back soon!" she called over her shoulder.

"Not long, love. Not long at all!" he replied; smirking as he enjoyed her mother-like impatience and curiosity.

Secretly, Arthur found it to be sexy.

The pair continued to travel down winding pathways and weaved in and out of the way of those passing by on the sidewalks. The two were given strange looks of wonder as they journeyed farther into the city; his hands over the girl's eyes and their pace a lot slower than others around them.

"Arthur, _please _tell me where you're taking me!" she ordered.

"Alright, just hold on for a bit longer, love. We'll be there very, very soon," he insisted.

Yep, _very _sexy.

After a few more minutes of long, lengthened-out travel outside the main, busy parts of London, Arthur had finally stopped walking.

"We're here, love," he whispered in her ear.

He watched as Florence held her breath and he _slowly _removed his hands from her field of vision.

He was taunting her.

"Arthur!" she whined.

He let out a soft laugh and finally dropped his hands.

"Well, love, what do you think?"

Florence gasped as the scenic view was unveiled to her.

Standing before her, across the surface of the beautiful Thames River was a gleaming, golden clock tower that rose high above the tallest rooftops in the strip of city across the river. The face of the clock had long, metal hands that curved and weaved themselves into a design that ended in a sharp point which was docked on a single, Roman numeral.

_Everything _was lit up in the setting sunlight. The houses, the shops, and especially the beacon of light that was the clock tower. It all reflected off the surface of the crystal clear water and seemed to glimmer and move with the waves. The pink and orange sky added to the beauty of the picture painted out before her eyes.

"Th-This is beautiful," she said softly as she stepped forward to the railing of the concrete bridge they were standing on.

"_This _is the famous clock tower that the entire United Kingdom is best known for; Big Ben," Arthur explained; stepping back and allowing her to watch time tick by before her.

Arthur watched not the scenery, but her as she leaned on the railing and looked down on the splashing waters below that was stealing the reflection of Big Ben. She stood there, basking in the beauty for a while.

She seemed to not be able to move.

Shutting his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, he walked forward and snaked an arm around her waist. He looked at her blush as it grew on her face like a wildfire. The pink on her cheeks matched the color of the breathtaking sky perfectly.

Suddenly, the clock let out a loud, chiming sound as the two hands advanced forward; the shortest being on the seven and the longest being on the twelve.

_7:00_

At that moment, Arthur's heart began to race and a small bulge in his pants could be felt as he stared at her lips.

He wanted those lips to be on his.

Florence caught him staring down at her and looked at him with growing concern.

Suddenly, she felt his hand slip underneath her chin and lift her face up only inches away from his. She could feel the tips of his shaggy, blond hair kissing her forehead and could see his emerald orbs staring into hers.

There was something in those gorgeous eyes.

And that something was lust.

Pure, undying lust.

Arthur cupped her cheeks in his hands and slowly bent down to kiss her.

Florence froze and blushed as his lips slowly lowered down to hers.

_Why is my heart racing like this?_

She sucked in a sudden, small breath of surprise as he pecked her lips and sat his on top of hers, waiting for her approval. He was breathing hot air into her gaping mouth and looking at their mouths with pure longing in his eyes.

Those captivating, _enthralling _eyes.

_I-I'm so tempted to kiss him. What's holding me back?_

A cold shiver ran up her spine as he kissed her mouth again, this time only a tad bit off from the center of her lips.

_Should I kiss him? _

* * *

Author's Note

Translations:

1. Mon Frere- My Brother in French

2. Tres Bon- Very Good in French

3. Sil Vous Plait- Please in French

4. Mon Ami- My Friend in French (not to be mistaken for "my love" which is Mon Amie)

5. Nuestra Hermana- Our Sister in Spanish

Finally, I get to use French in this thing! It feels good to finally put that crap to use! In FanFiction! Alright, well, if you guys read my fifth chapter you know that I was asking for you all to leave a comment on my sixth chapter stating who you favored: Prussence, Englence, or Flormano! I would highly appreciate it if you all did so! Thanks a bunch!

Questions to think about:

Will Florence end up kissing Arthur, or break his heart? Will Gilbert take part in this upcoming war, or will he stay behind to protect Florence? Is Romano finally going to kiss Florence?


	7. Chapter Seven: Kiss Me, Love

Author's Note

Warnings for this chapter:

1. OC

2. Bad Language

Hello! I need to say a quick apology for not being able to upload this chapter as quickly as I intended. You see, I had wanted to post this on Friday night while I was on a trip for State Science Fair- which I thought was more like a convention full of multiple Harry Potters- but I was unable to due to the fact of having to sit through a six hour drive, an hour-long presentation, and a six hour banquet all on Friday night. Oh well, I won some awesome prizes and fourth place in my category, so I was highly pleased.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I am afraid that I do not have much time to write, or as a matter of fact; ever write again. _

_I am going away, and to be honest, I am looking forward to it. Ludwig has been too busy for me- as if- and said that he had "foreign affairs to deal with", whatever the hell that means. Although, I am pretty sure that it meant, "I'm tired of putting up with your shit, Gilbert". _

_And somehow, I cannot make myself blame him. _

_Francis is supposed to be busting down my door- literally- at any minute now. He has connections through this small part of France- Versailles or some other French crap like that- that can provide us with a way to get to London by sometime tonight. _

_I honestly do not care how the hell I get there. _

_I just want to be there when my Florence- meine frau Florence- wakes up. To save her, and to comfort her while she is in my arms. To love her, and to kiss her all over. _

_Ich leibe dich, Florence, and I am coming back to you. _

_I will always come for you, meine angel. _

_The devil always comes for his angel._

_And he will be dressed for the occasion. _

_- Gilbert Beilschmidt _

* * *

Arthur stared down at their touching lips with a longing expression.

_Oh_, how he had wanted this kiss for _so _long.

The British gentleman started entangled his legs with hers as he continued to breathe slow, hot air into her mouth; hoping that his teasing would get her to connect their lips. His hands were still cupping her cold, pale face and his lips- hopefully soft and sweet tasting- were still pressed against hers.

Florence's bright, amber eyes were shimmering like gemstones in the brilliant, afternoon sky. Flowing softly against the setting sun, her almost auburn hair seemed to be setting off a golden glow.

He watched as her big, innocent eyes were glued to their lips, as if they were afraid of the forced kiss that was soon to come.

To come from the so-called, "gentleman".

_I-I cannot do this. Not to her. _

Arthur let out a regretful sigh and squeezed his eyes shut.

What had he done?

He slowly took his lips off of hers and let go of her face. There was pain and sorrow in his eyes, and he felt as if a hole was being burned into his heart.

He refused to meet her gaze as he said, "I-I'm so sorry, I-I just-"

Arthur let his voice trail off as he turned around and took a few steps away from her.

_I am so, so sorry, Florence. _

"Arthur?"

Just as he turned around to face her again, a rushing of footsteps were heard as they pounded against the concrete bridge.

"Mister Kirkland, Sir! You've just received a telegram from someone. Someone by the name of Francis Bonnefoy? He says that you would know him," a young, male British soldier said sternly; holding out a piece of folded paper with trembling hands.

Arthur sighed heavily under his breath and closed his tired eyes.

Fighting back tears and turning to the soldier, he said angrily, "Can't that wait? I have far more important things to attend to!"

"I'm afraid not, Sir," the soldier said; obviously not fazed by the sudden outburst and the tension in the air. "It's quite urgent."

"Then what does it say?" Arthur growled; rolling his eyes and squeezing them shut out of frustration.

He was rubbing his face with his right hand and staring up into the late afternoon sky with annoyance.

"It says that your friend, Gilbert Beilschmidt and him are coming to London. Apparently, they have received word that the terrorists of Europe are going to hit the UK soon. They want your help to start a war against them."

Arthur's expression quickly changed from seething anger to pure shock as he ran over to the cadet and snatched the paper out of his hands.

"What?" he cried out in surprise as he unfolded the message and read over the words.

After a few moments of silence, Arthur sighed and threw his head back; running his fingers through his messy, blond hair.

"Now, _this _is getting quite ridiculous!" he muttered under his breath with frustration.

There was stress written all over his face as he combed through his shaggy, platinum blond hair.

"Look," he was saying; turning to face the soldier, "just tell Francis that we'll be expecting him and that we hope he has a safe journey."

And with that, the cadet nodded and took off towards the city.

* * *

Romano was sprawled out on his bed.

His _empty _bed.

Over and over, he had checked the glowing, digital clock on his bedside table, and over and over had he been disappointed as each minute until eight o'clock ticked by.

_7:55_, it now said.

The Italian sighed and turned over. He decided that staring hopelessly at the clock was _not _going to solve his problems.

_That bastard better be thankful that he gets to spend time with my Florence. Any guy would be lucky enough to have her even look at them. That goes for me especially. _

Romano lightly rubbed the spot where his love would be sleeping soundly in his arms tonight. He was picturing her delicate body lying there next to his; not a single sound coming from it. He was imagining his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close, and in return, she would cuddle and nuzzle into his neck and chest; making him grunt and moan with happiness.

He _longed _for those nights.

The nights that he was with her.

Lovino rolled back over and forced himself to glance at the clock, just _one more _time tonight.

_7:57_

As soon as that clock's blinding, red numbers changed to eight o'clock, Romano would throw on a t-shirt and steal her back from that son of a bitch. He would take her hand and pull her into a deep kiss, right in front of that British bastard.

But somewhere inside of him, Lovino knew that he would never do that.

Not unless she wanted to.

_I fucking love her, Arthur, and I will never stop loving her. Not even if I am dead and gone. Not even if she rejects me. Not even if you steal her from me. I will always love her. No one else. Her. _

_7:58_

Romano glanced at the jet black t-shirt that was resting at the foot of the bed.

Something told him that he would need it soon.

_Very _soon.

_She is mine, Arthur. Not yours. Mine. Even if she chooses you over me, she'll always be my Florence. My heart. My reason to live. _

_7:59_

The Italian was already sitting up and starting to kick his way out from under the heavy bed sheets.

He would make up the bed later.

After they have slept in it.

With one last glance at the clock, he was tossing on the shirt and running out the door as fast as he could; ignoring the yelling Antonio from the living room. Ignoring the painful stinging from his bare feet hitting the asphalt roads. Ignoring the entire world that passed by around him.

_8:00_

* * *

It felt really strange having to read about the Italian girl Arthur had been falling for in the letter sitting in their kitchen.

"Wow! She must be a _total_ babe to have grabbed Ol' Brit's attention! I mean, he's pretty blind when it comes to hot girls!" Alfred F. Jones said with a smile; letting out a loud, boisterous laugh at the end.

"Y-Yeah. Sh-She must be r-really pretty!"

The young American turned to face his older brother- by _only_ three days, he would _gladly_ argue- Matthew Williams.

"Pretty? Dude, you haven't spent _nearly_ as much time growing up with Britain as I have. This girl must be something out of one of those car magazines to have him falling head over heels for her! I mean, just read this thing!" Alfred cried; handing over the letter to Matthew and clearing his throat.

In a terrible, British accent, he began quoting some of the lines in the letter.

"'You wouldn't believe it, Alfred! She's the most angelic- most _beautiful_- girl I've ever laid eyes on! You know, I've never really believed in love at first sight, but now I do! I'm taking her around London today, and I'm even going to kiss her in front of Big Ben at sunset! I sure hope she likes it. She's _the one_, I just know it!'"

Instead of joining in on Alfred's laughing fit, Matthew smiled softly and finished the rest of the letter before responding.

"I-I think it's sweet that Arthur f-found someone that he really likes!" he said softly.

Alfred stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow questioningly. He took the letter back from Matthew's hands and laid it on their kitchen counter.

"You really think that she's, '_The one_' for him, Mattie?" he asked seriously; jumping up and hoisting himself up onto the counter.

He watched with a slight smirk as Matthew cringed at the thought of having to eat pancakes in the morning on the very surface that Alfie sat his butt on.

"F-From the way that A-Arthur was talking, yes. N-Now, Alfred, could you p-please stop sitting on the counter?" Matthew asked politely.

Alfred smiled and shrugged as he slid back off and stood in front of his brother.

"Happy?"

"A-Actually, yes," the Canadian said softly.

"Who are you?" a high-pitched voice wailed from the next room.

Alfred growled as he stomped off into the living room, with Canada right behind him. He stopped at a lone rocking chair where a snow white bear sat; his big, black eyes gazing up at him innocently. Alfred snatched it up and glared at it.

"Shut _up_, you little-"

He was about to continue with his threat when he realized that Matthew was right next to him. When he could help it, Alfred tried not to use foul language in front of his brother, even though Mattie occasionally used it himself.

"Who are you?" the bear asked again, clearly unfazed by Alfred's anger issues with him.

Instead of ripping Kumajiro- Matthew's pet polar bear- to shreds, Alfred just sighed and squeezed his azure blue eyes shut; unclenching his grip and dropping the bear back onto its rightful spot in the rocking chair.

"I don't having a freaking clue why you decide to put up with that thing, Mattie!" he yelled, storming off to the kitchen again.

Matthew was just about to reply when he realized something.

He had no answer to that question.

The Canadian boy watched his brother's blue t-shirt with red and white sleeves flop around on his waist. Alfred was almost _always _seen wearing that shirt. Something about American pride and style?

Come to think of it, he was usually seen around town wearing American related stuff.

It must have to do with the fact that he moved to Toronto, Ontario Canada with him shortly after World War II.

He was showing off his country's pride.

Matthew glanced down at his own shirt- or rather, sweatshirt- which was green and had a red maple leaf ironed on the front. Alfred had given him this shirt for his birthday last year, and he had worn it almost everyday since.

"Mattie! Look!" Alfred yelled from the front door.

The way his voice was faltering meant that he was scared.

And if America was scared, then it meant that Canada had to be the bigger brother for once.

Matthew rushed to the door to see Alfred clutching a piece of paper in his hands and a solemn look slapped across his face as he looked over the words.

"Mattie, it's a letter. From Francis," he said quietly.

Matthew's purple eyes flashed open at the _very _familiar name.

_Big Brother France? B-But he never writes us! He only visits us on holidays and at world meetings! _

"W-What does it s-say?" he asked frightfully; expecting the worst.

"It says that our help is needed. Matthew, we're going to London."

* * *

Florence was still shocked over the images running through her mind like a scene in a horror film.

_The way that Romano and Arthur had fought back there…_

There was yelling. There was cursing. There were threats.

Thank _God_ that there was no physical fighting.

But what had shocked Florence the most was how the fight all started; what it was all about.

Her.

She remembered the way that Romano had come running up to them and crashed into Arthur just as he tried to kiss her again. She recalled the way Arthur's face had twisted up into a vicious scowl and how the angry words, "what the bloody hell", ran from his mouth. She cringed at the pictures of both of their faces turning blood red and they began shouting at one another.

Thank _God_ she had stopped it.

But now, here she was, sleeping alone in the guest bedroom that Romano and her had once shared. Arthur had absolutely _refused _to let Romano sleep with Florence after their argument on the bridge, and in return, was going to take her to his room. Of course, Lovino was outraged and demanded that she needed to stay with him in case something had happened.

And yet here she was; alone in the dark.

The frightening, demonic dark.

The same, exact darkness that she had been _terribly _afraid of ever since she was a young girl. That was why she always had a nightlight to sleep with and a _somebody _to sleep with, but when she had outgrown the nightlight, she never quite adjusted to the feeling of _not _sleeping with someone.

And that someone had been Romano.

For over twelve years.

Florence shivered and fought back a whimper of fear as she wrapped herself back up in a ball of covers. She tried yanking the comforter over her eyes, but that created only more darkness and a field of unknowingness around her.

She _longed_ to grab her blanket and the stuffed, white bunny she called, "Mister Whiskers" in her arms and run to the living room where Romano would be sleeping on the couch. He had volunteered his room to Florence when Arthur had thought it was best for her to sleep with no one else on the couch.

He had said, "A princess deserves only the very best."

She wanted to dive onto the couch and cuddle in the warmth and safety of his arms.

But, then again, there would be Arthur's room only a few doors down from hers. She could easily run and open his door, slide into his bed and lay there with him. Florence was sure that he would comfort her, as well; wrapping his arms around her the same way that Romano would and whisper sweet, comforting words into her ear.

But where should she go?

* * *

Antonio was _very _surprised to hear a soft, knocking sound on his bedroom door.

_Who the hell is this? I swear, if it is Lovino coming to cry to me about what happened out there, I am not going to listen… _

Antonio flung the covers off of his body and sat up sleepily; looking at the digital clock beside his bed.

_12:23_

_I swear, Romano…_

Antonio opened his door and was just about to yell at Lovino for disturbing him in the middle of the night, when he saw his shivering hermana standing in the hallway wrapped in a green blanket and clutching her stuffed animal underneath the cover.

"Florence! What are you doing up at this hour?" he asked, quickly pulling her into his room and shutting the door.

"I-I'm too a-afraid of the d-dark, fratello! I don't h-have Romano to sleep w-with and I'm s-scared and-"

Before she could continue her sentence, Antonio had already carried her bridal-style to his bed and laid her down; tucking her tightly inside of the covers.

Kissing her forehead, he whispered to her, "Buenas noches, Florence. Duerme bien."

His beautiful sister had stopped trembling and was laying almost motionless under the heavy amount of comforter. Antonio smiled at her as he slipped into the bed beside her. After pulling the covers up to his collarbone- which was just underneath her chin- he wrapped her up securely in his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. He could feel her nuzzling into his chest and he let out a soft moan.

Now he could see why Romano enjoyed sleeping with her so much.

It was _absolutely_ wonderful.

_Wait, what? Why am I feeling this way? _

Antonio let his thoughts wander off as he combed through her long, auburn hair and continued to warm her up.

_I-I just need to rest on it. That is all. It has been a rough day, Toni. Get some sleep. _

With those very last thoughts still ringing in his mind, the Spaniard drifted off to sleep with Florence resting soundly in his arms.

And he had _never _slept better in his life.

* * *

Author's Note

Translations:

1. Meine Frau- My Beautiful in German

2. Ich Leibe Dich- ?

3. Hermana- Sister in Spanish

4. Fratello- Brother in Italian

5. Buenas Noches- Goodnight in Spainsh

6. Duerme Bien- Sleep Well in Spanish

So, a bit of Florain, huh? How do you guys feel about that? I would love to know! Anyways, I have to admit that it was a lot of fun having to write from the viewpoint of Matthew and Alfred! I was really excited to finally find a place to fit them in in the story, because they each become highly important later on! I would gladly tell you how, but I don't do spoilers! Sorry!

Questions to think about:

Will Romano and Arthur's bickering get the best of them? Will Matthew and Alfred assist Francis and Gilbert in the war? Will Antonio wake up to newly developed feelings for Florence? Will Arthur ever get that kiss?

EXTRA: I have added my first poll to this account! I would highly appreciate it if you guys submitted your votes! It's to see who's team is winning: Prussence, Flormano, or Englence! Thank you!


	8. Chapter Eight: Nightmares

Author's Note

Warnings for this chapter:

1. OC

2. Bad Language

Hey guys! It's almost 3:00 A.M. where I live and I'm _super_ tired right now. I've been trying really hard to work on this damn thing but I've just never had the time this week up until now. This chapter- I must admit- I hated at first. I was just unable to get the proper words on the pages! But, about halfway down, I actually became a pretty decent writer for being awake since 7:45 yesterday morning! So, hey, whether you love it or hate it is up to you. Just give me some credit for pushing myself to stay awake for _this _long!

As always, thank you guys so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Florence was dieing.

Dieing all by herself without a single soul in sight.

She was lying down alone in the middle of a tall, grassy field. The color of the sky above her was a sign of a setting or rising sun, but there was no gaseous, yellow giant hovering over the planet. Instead, a thin veil of gun smoke was coating the Earth and eating away at the little amount of oxygen left to breathe.

Florence tried rolling over onto her side, but yelped out in pain.

She had been shot.

By one of _their _revolvers.

The sting from the bullet wound was enough to make her howl like an injured dog on the highway. It was clear that the small, silver weapon was still inside of her stomach.

And it was _deep_, too.

Flopping helplessly onto her back, Florence began to cry. Not from the pain or the lack of fresh air in her lungs.

From the empty world around her.

From taking her last, dieing breath _alone_.

She made an effort to call out for Romano, but there was no answer. It probably did not help that her screams sounded more like a muffled croak from an elderly woman. She then tried Arthur, then Antonio, but was met with the same result.

"Can _anyone _help me?" she moaned.

The light was fading fast. The world seemed to be turning black and getting fuzzy- like a television screen- and the grass around her was no longer visible. Just as she was about to give up hope and accept her dismal fate, a large, looming shadow engulfed her frail body in darkness.

"A-Arthur?"

She could not make out the person's face, and she had no idea why she chose to call Arthur's name, but the figure was leaning down as if to scoop her up in his arms and take her away.

Take her away from rotting in her very own grave.

She could do nothing but stare up into his face as he neared closer to her. Just as enough sunlight was available to outline his body, Florence began to panic.

_A gray fedora…_

It was one of _them_ here to seal her fate.

"No. Please," was all she could mutter out before a giant hand clamped down on her sweaty, pale face and squeezed.

So hard, that it snapped her neck.

* * *

Florence bolted upright and screamed; immediately covering her mouth as she noticed Antonio was still sound asleep beside her.

_It was just a dream…_

A horrifying dream that had quickly turned into an all-out nightmare.

As much as she longed to wake Antonio, she could not make herself do it.

_Those monsters, Toni. They're coming to get me. _

The young, Italian girl let out a sigh of relief and sank back down underneath the safety of the covers. Her skinny arms snaked themselves around his waist and she pulled herself closer to her brother.

_But you will be able to protect me, right Toni?_

_Right? _

* * *

Francis Bonnefoy was growing highly impatient as he leaned against the hidden back entrance to the Palace of Versailles.

Yes, he was just, "casually leaning", against the walls of one of the world's oldest and most historic castles ever built.

_Where is this damn transportation that Louis had talked about? We are late enough as it is. _

The Frenchman had no idea whatsoever of how the hell they were to get to London on time on _this_ schedule, but he had a lot of faith placed into Louis, and somehow trusted him enough to catch a fugitive's ride to a foreign country.

His brother's country.

Someplace- on a _normal_ day, mind you- that he would _never_ dare to go. That is, unless he felt the need to be shot to death by Arthur's military.

Francis stole a sideways glance at his partner-in-crime, Gilbert Beilschmidt, who was pacing back and forth anxiously and eating away at his already short fingernails.

Anxiety was never something that Gil was able to cope with easily. In fact, Francis would often say that it could consume him if he let it. He would say this to not _just_ get on Gilbert's nerves, but to express his concern for him during those times.

And _this _was _definitely _one of those times.

But instead of barging in on his inner issues, he decided to leave Gil be. If he wanted to be a psychopath for a while, then let him. Why should he care?

And besides, hearing him stress over that Florence girl was enough to drive anyone mad.

Suddenly, a blinding, white light flashed on and filled the surrounding area with a brightness that could easily melt someone's eyes if they stared at it too long. Francis and Gilbert had to shield their faces from the brilliant source of light hovering just over their heads.

_What the hell?_

Just as the rope ladder unfolded and crashed down in front of him, Francis realized what Louis had been talking about when he had said, "I'll be your carrier pigeon for one night and one night _only_!"

The French helicopter was sleek and black; one that would make _any_ pilot proud. The aircraft was almost completely silent as the gigantic propeller whipped at the air furiously. The way the paint job glistened in the shimmering light of the full moon made it seem as though it was made out of pure, black silver.

Francis was impressed, to say the least.

* * *

Romano rubbed his sagging, tired eyes sleepily as he tried for the thousandth time to get some damn sleep.

Of course, that was what his body was saying, but his mind was saying, "Get Florence to sleep with you!"

And his mind was _oh-so _strong.

It was almost as if she had been a ghost or a mere figment of his imagination. The leftover space on the couch was empty and it depressed Lovino.

Twelve years, she had slept with him.

Twelve wonderful, peaceful years with the love of his life right by his side.

Romano had known that Florence had gotten up and ran to Antonio's room several hours ago. He had heard the familiar sound of the blanket dragging across the hardwood floors and the pattering of soft feet hitting the ground.

Just like when she first asked to sleep with him.

Twelve years ago.

Lovino sighed and roughly flipped himself over to where his back faced the rest of the living room. He had grown sick of looking at the same, damn decorations over and over and being constantly reminded of the missing person in his temporary bed.

The only thing he wanted to see when he turned over was Florence sleeping right there next to him.

God, he missed her _so_ fucking much.

He knew that Toni had no attraction to her whatsoever, but he still _resented _the thought of her sleeping with him.

The thought of her replacing him.

_Oh Flo, if you only knew how much I need you. If you only knew…_

* * *

Florence sucked in a sudden, deep breath of cool air as she awoke from yet _another _dreadful nightmare.

That was the third one just tonight!

The young girl whimpered and reached out for Antonio, but felt nothing beside her. She quickly sat up and felt around the bed for the sleeping body of her brother, but came up empty-handed. Suddenly, she began to panic.

"Toni?" she called out softly, praying to God that she would hear his voice answering her reassuringly.

"It's alright, love. Antonio is _just _fine."

Florence blinked a few times before her amber eyes adjusted to the bright light of the early morning. The clock beside her brother's bed showed that it was _6:57_, which was odd considering how Antonio would not be caught _dead_ being up and active at this hour.

"Arthur?" she asked with longing, reaching her arms out to him.

She was relieved to feel his strong, tender arms snake around her body and lift her up securely to rest against his chest. She blushed heavily as she felt his soft, pink lips kiss her cheek lightly.

"Please don't be frightened, love. It's alright. You brothers are downstairs making some tea for you in the kitchen. That is, if you call _that _rubbish tea." he said with a soft chuckle at the end of his witty remark.

Arthur's face was kind and full of compassion as he smiled down at Florence. His eyes seemed to have developed an even brighter shade of green just overnight and his hair was so blonde that it was almost as if locks of gold were glittering in the morning sunlight that was streaming through the bedroom window.

"Why are you shaking, my love?" Arthur asked curiously. "Are you cold?"

Florence had not even noticed.

"N-No, I'm not cold. I must still be shaken from the nightmares."

Arthur nodded and kissed her forehead, causing her entire face and cheeks to flare up again.

"Don't worry, Florence. Some Earl Gray tea should do the trick," he said, tightening his hold around her body.

"Will it stop?" she asked him with big, pleading eyes.

"Will what stop, love?" he asked.

"The nightmares. Will they ever stop haunting me, Arthur?"

The Englishman fell silent for a while before speaking again.

"I don't know. I sure hope so, but for right now, I think it's best that you sleep with me. I-Is that aright with you? I-I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything," Arthur asked, his face heating up just like hers.

She let a soft, sweet smile escape from her lips.

"I would like that, Arthur. I would like that very much."

"Good," he said, "because I would like that very much, too."

* * *

Wang Yao could never be in a worse situation than what he was in right now.

His country had been invaded by these demons of the night and his communist government had been completely overthrown by those mongrels that dare call themselves human. The horrifying images of those menacing, gray fedoras would forever haunt the Chinese man's dreams for as long as he lived.

A few mornings ago, the first terrorist bombs had struck the capital city of Beijing and had killed almost a hundred people alone.

And _that_ was just the beginning.

After Wang had to witness his own people being viciously murdered at his feet, he had to be escorted to a secret refugee camp in the subway tunnels underneath Beijing where he had very little food and water for over twenty-four hours. And even after all of that, the bombers had _still _found him.

Yes. They had found him.

And he had no intention of trying to escape anytime soon.

For the past two days, Mister Yao had been beaten and tortured into telling the secrets of the government and the military plans they had strategically organized for in the near future. He had been hurt both physically and emotionally until he had given in.

Given into those _monsters_.

And now, they had him _right_ where they wanted him.

They had him on their side in this nasty, gruesome war.

A war that would have him fighting against his own brothers and sisters.

* * *

Author's Note

No translations this time, but I do have a slight pronunciation that I would like to point out. It's about the name, "Louis". Normally, in English-speaking countries, it is pronounced, [Loo-iss], but in the French language, it is pronounced, [Loo-ee]. Sorry, I just didn't want you guys walking around thinking that France knows a Frenchman named [Loo-iss]. Also, my French teacher would somehow find out with her freaky ninja skills and bust me for it.

Questions to think about:

Will Florence have any more nightmares after sleeping with Arthur? Are those dreams a sign from the enemy? Will Wang ever escape the clutches of the terrorists? Did you guys learn something new about French names?

PS- Don't forget to vote for your favorite pairing in my poll! You should be able to access it through my profile somehow. So, just place your vote now or later before the end of the story on which team you support: Flormano, Englence, or Prussence. If you select, "Other", please tell me which pairing you would like to see/see more of in the comments! Thanks!


	9. Chapter Nine: Doctors and Daleks

Author's Note

Warnings for this chapter:

1. OC

2. Very _mild_ language

3. Suckiness

Hello to all! I had originally planned to post this on Saturday night, but I had to attend a concert of my local symphony putting on songs from the legendary band, Queen! I had the very _best _time of my life that night, and so therefore, I passed out on my bed with both my lights and tablet on. Cheers for wasting electricity! Anyways, so now, as I am writing this, it is very early Tuesday morning; around 2:00 AM or so, but I will post this very horrible chapter later on in the day!

As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy, even though I know you won't!

* * *

_He _woke up with that same cruel, devilish smirk on his skeletal face.

Another one.

Another dream of _that girl _being shot down and killed by one of _his _followers. Another dream of her jolting awake in a cold sweat and her heartbroken brother longing for her body next to his. Another dream of the love-struck Englishman offering up an invitation to share his bed with her, and her accepting it.

Another dream of the girl _he_ was obsessed with.

_He _loved this girl. _He _craved this girl.

_He _wanted to _kill _this girl.

Florence Valentino. The girl who was playing with _his _already insane and schizophrenic mind. The girl who was toying with _his _small, cold heart that never seemed to beat. The girl who was filling _his _dreams and turning them into blissful, beautiful nightmares.

The girl who has to make a choice.

Not now. Not in a few days, but soon.

_Very, very _soon.

_He _sat back and threw _his_ hands casually behind _his_ head. Images of the beautiful Italian girl ran through _his_ mind as her voice called _his_ name from the dark, cold shadows that were always clouding _his_ sensible mind.

She would be dead by the end of this damn war.

_He _would make sure of that.

* * *

Florence opened her bright, amber eyes to a pitch black bedroom at the early morning hours in London, England. A sweet, innocent smile was spread upon her face as she slowly sat up in the bed. She could still feel her brother's arms wrapped tightly around her waist and his fingers entangled in her long, wavy hair.

_Good morning, Antonio. _

She watched as Toni shifted around in his sleep and felt his strong arms tighten around her body. Florence let out a soft giggle at the way her brother tossed and turned in his sleep.

It was cute.

The young, Italian girl rubbed her eyes and yawned loudly as she stretched out like a cat. The dreamless sleep she had had the past night was so quick and peaceful that she almost craved for more.

She only hoped that Arthur and Romano had slept that well, too.

Florence could not stand the thought of them arguing over her until the crack of dawn. She had spent the early hours of the night convincing herself that she was not worth their love and affection, and certainly not worth fighting over.

It did not take much effort.

The angry words that they had shouted at each other back on the bridge were still ringing in her mind. The way that Romano's face had boiled to that of a tomato red was clouding her thoughts.

_Oh Roma…_

Florence could not help but feel terrible as she recalled how Lovino had sacrificed the warmth of his bed for her and volunteered to sleep on the rock-hard couch.

_Some princess I am…_

She did _not _like this fighting.

Not one bit.

* * *

Ivan Braginski had forgotten all about the bitter cold around his body.

He had forgotten the pain of his eardrums being frozen and closed off for a short time.

He had even forgotten where he was as he read the contents of the letter that was being held in his trembling, gloved hands. He did not need Francis's reminder of the horrible terrorist attack on southern Italy the other day to make his morning.

What he needed to do was forget the whole thing.

Those petrifying images of those Italian landmarks being burned down to mere ashes on the streets and the frightening, gory shots of innocent lives being taken had been toying with his dreams since the day he saw them in the morning paper.

Now, Ivan was able to stomach a lot of things, but dead bodies? No.

It reminded him too much of his past.

The past that forever left scars on his present and future.

And just as he was starting to form alliances with the other nations, he had been asked to join a war. A war that would place the fate of the beautiful Florence Valentino in his hands.

The beautiful, Italian girl that everyone seemed to be infatuated with.

That _included _himself.

No. He could _not_ do that to her. He could _not _let Florence down.

Taking a ballpoint pen out of his trench coat pocket, the Russian walked back inside to the warmth and coziness of his house that rested in the heart of Moscow, Russia. Grabbing a clean sheet of paper and slamming it down on the kitchen counter, Ivan began to furiously jot down the reply to the Frenchman's letter.

_Dear Francis, _

_See you on the battlefield. _

_-IB_

* * *

Arthur Kirkland smiled at his reflection in the full length mirror that was sitting in the master bathroom. When he was a child, he had pictured it as the same mirror that was portrayed within the tale of Snow White, which just so happened to be his favorite fairytale. He would always ask it if he would someday become one of the strongest countries in the world.

There was never a reply.

As he grew older, though, the mirror began to rust and gain cracks in its reflective surface. Now, there were over a dozen small fractures in the glass that seemed to be placed strategically all around the mirror's edges.

Standing in the middle of the bathroom, Arthur began to straighten his green sweater vest and run his fingers through his messy, blonde hair.

His only hope was that Florence would like it.

His only hope was that Florence would like him.

* * *

Matthew Williams was _not _happy with his current surroundings.

Whether it was the destructive, outlandish state of the motel, the lack of space in the room, or the fact that he had to share the single bed with Alfred.

Either way, Mister Williams was _not _looking forward to his first night staying in Dublin, Ireland.

"You know, Mattie, this place isn't half bad!" Alfred cried, throwing himself down onto the bed.

He let out a boisterous laugh as the poor bed's springs wailed and screeched as the weight of his slim body hit the mattress. Upon impact, Alfred's American flag t-shirt flew up, revealing his stomach.

Matthew covered his face when he felt his cheeks flaring up at the sight of his brother's deep, curvy abdominal region.

_W-What just happened? Why am I blushing? It is just Alfred. I've seen him like this before and nothing happened! Right? _

The Canadian began to let his mind wonder as Alfred kicked off his shoes and sat up; reaching for the letter laying on the wooden, rickety nightstand beside the bed. The American's bright, sapphire eyes began to scan the page on which his eldest brother's handwriting was on.

"Alfred, wh-why are you r-reading that letter from F-Francis, again?" Matthew asked when he was sure that his blush was gone.

"I don't know, it's just that it doesn't really seem like ol'Frenchie to be starting a war like this," he explained, setting the letter down as his way of ending the discussion.

Matthew's mystifying, violet eyes widened as his younger brother laid back and patted the spot next to him in the small bed.

"C'mon, Mattie! It's getting late! We need to head over to Britain's place tomorrow!"

Matthew blinked a few times before taking a small step back.

"N-No thanks, Alfie. I-I'm fine with s-sleeping on the floor! Y-You need your space, a-and so do I, so-"

"Matthew, I'm not taking no for an answer," Alfred demanded, pulling the covers over his body and rolling over; his back now facing his brother.

The Canadian sighed and began unlacing his tennis shoes and sliding off his coat. Blushing as bright as the sun, he climbed into the bed and squeezed in next to Alfred, who was hogging the covers.

Although, the comforter had several moth-made holes in it, so that was just fine with Matthew.

It only took a few more moments until Mattie heard the soft, familiar snoring sounds from his brother. They were quick and quiet, not at all like the snores Francis had made back when Matthew had slept next to him.

No. Alfred's were cuter.

_Much _cuter.

* * *

"It's a fez. I wear a fez now. Fezzes are cool!"

Arthur smiled down at Florence as she giggled and squealed with excitement. The pair were sitting on the living room couch and watching Arthur's favorite show, _Doctor Who_, which had been airing on British televisions since 1963.

And from the looks of it, it was now Florence's favorite show, as well.

As she laughed and watched the goofy eleventh Doctor pout about his newly shot fez, Arthur snaked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. He enjoyed the soft sensation of her body next to his; their exchanging of warmth and heat.

He could smell the familiar scent of vanilla with just a _hint _of sugar eluding from her long, almost auburn hair.

It was a sweet smell that Arthur could easily imagine filling his nose at night as the two would sleep in the comfort of his bed.

It was nice.

It was nice being with her.

"Arthur?" she asked, a small smile stitched across her face.

"Yes, love?"

"What's a Dalek?" she asked curiously.

Arthur chuckled at her innocent question and began brushing the loose hair out of her face and eyes.

"Well, love," he began, prepared to make a scene, "you see, Daleks are these monsters; these _aliens_ that have tormented both Time Lords and humans alike for _hundreds_ of years. These creatures look like just metal suits of amour with whisks for arms, but they're really these octopus-like demons that can't feel or bear any emotions other than hatred for the _entire_ human race. They are the world's _greatest_ enemies and the fall of the Time Lords."

Florence grabbed at his arm.

"So, th-they're real?" she asked, fear hanging off of every word.

Arthur felt a smirk tugging at the corners of his soft lips.

"Only if you believe that."

He thought he heard some sort of whimper coming from the beautiful, Italian girl sitting next to him and immediately began to regret what he had said.

Before he could correct himself, she snuggled into his arm and said, "Will you protect me, Arthur? If the Daleks come for me, will you protect me?"

The Englishman smiled and kissed her forehead.

"Of course I will. I'll be your Doctor coming to save the day." he whispered, rubbing her back and shoulders softly.

"Will you wear a fez?" she asked with a hint of a smile.

Arthur laughed and shook his head.

"No. Maybe a bow tie, but certainly not a fez. Bow ties are cool," he said, mimicking the current doctor almost perfectly.

Florence giggled and laid her head on his shoulder, turning her attention back to the television screen.

_I will be your Doctor, Florence. I will always be your Doctor. _

_I will always be yours. _

* * *

Author's Note

See you guys? I warned you of the suckiness! I apologize greatly for that and for the confusion that may have come up, so let me explain. I sat down to write this on Friday night and realized that the previous chapter was not bad, but it lead me to a point of being completely stuck in this chapter. So, I had to make it where Florence really did not have that dream and all of Chapter Eight was a dream that, "_He_", had had. So basically, that whole chapter was not real, just some schizophrenic person's weird obsession with a girl who he loves and wants to see dead. You know, because crap like that happens everyday! So, again, I'm sorry for the weirdness and confusion, and I promise that Chapter Ten will not be anything like this! Thanks for bearing with me, guys! I love you all!

Questions to think about:

Just who is this, "_He_", that keeps having dreams about Florence? Why does _he _want to see her dead if _he_ loves her so much? Will Arthur end up getting the girl, or will Romano step up his game?

PS- Don't forget to cast your vote for Prussence, Flormano, Englence, or your own shipping with Florence in my new poll! It should be available on my profile…somewhere.

Right now, the results are:

Flormano: 1

Englence: 0

Prussence: 0

Other: 0

Thanks again, guys, and have an awesome day!


	10. Chapter Ten: The Story of Snow White

Author's Note

Warnings for this chapter:

1. OC

2. Mild Language

Well, it is around four o'clock in the morning where I live and my eyeballs are about to explode out of my head. I've been traveling for ten straight hours in a small, white car and I just got back at midnight exactly. For my last few days on spring break, I decided to take a family vacation and drive over to my hometown for three days. It was fun and all, but I'm _super_ glad to be back and writing this without any writer's block crap. I spent my entire ride back home and some on the way there writing this chapter for you guys and I'm really excited for you to read it, as it's actually really good for once!

So, as always, thanks for sticking with me for this long and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_12:51 AM._

Arthur could not believe his tired, bloodshot eyes as they scanned over the electric blue digits that were flashing on his alarm clock.

Correction; _12:52 AM. _

"My bloody head," the Englishman moaned as he clutched at his skull and sat down on his king sized bed.

He had just spent an _entire _day cooking rotten meals and watching the Doctor Who marathon on BBC.

He had spent an entire day with Florence by his side.

Arthur sighed and rubbed his eyes. Looking at a television screen for more than four hours can do wonders to a person's vision.

_How the bloody hell does Alfred do that for so long?_

Taking one, last glance at the digital clock next to his bed- _12:55_- he began to peel off the formal clothes that had been clinging to his slim body all day long.

First came the sweater vest. Next came the necktie and belt. He continued to peel off layer after layer of clothing off of his skin until all that was left was a pair of Union Jack underwear hugging his hips.

After setting the used clothes into the designated hamper, he crawled underneath the covers that sealed the bed's mattress from sight and- for the first time in _hours_- he was able to shut his sparkling, emerald orbs for the night.

The old, yet modern-day house was strangely quiet for once. Usually around this time, a creak of the wooden floors would echo through the halls, or a moaning sound would erupt from the dishwasher in the kitchen.

Instead, there was silence.

Pure, blissful silence.

"Arthur?"

The British gentleman opened his tired eyes and sat up in his bed to find Florence standing in the doorway; her body being outlined by the dim light filtering out from his room. Her thin, sky blue nightgown was hanging loosely just above her knees and her arms were empty instead of being folded tightly around her stuffed bunny.

"Florence? What are you doing up at this hour, love? Shouldn't you be getting some sleep?" he asked softly, sitting up even further to show her that he was awake.

About an hour ago, during the episode where the ninth Doctor had just regenerated, Florence had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and Arthur had to carry her back to her bedroom so Romano could sleep on the couch. He was almost positive that she would be knocked out for the night, but apparently, that was _not_ the case.

"I did, but I woke up a while ago, and I couldn't go back to sleep," she said quietly.

"Did you have a nightmare or something?" he asked with a heavy amount of concern in his voice.

She shook her head, folded her hands together, and brought them up to her chest as if to plead for something.

"No. I just can't fall asleep again."

Arthur stared at her for a moment before smiling and standing up. He did not notice the rosy red blush on her cheeks when she realized that he was in his underwear. Instead, he walked over to her and took her hands gingerly in his.

"Well, lucky for you, Florence, I've got just the cure for that!" he cried, leading her inside of the dark bedroom and shutting the door behind her. "I hope you like fairytales!"

* * *

Romano smiled softly at the familiar, stuffed rabbit that was sitting upright in his lap.

The rabbit that had been in his bed for twelve years.

He felt terrible for taking this from Florence without asking, as it was her must-have object at night, but here it was, looking blankly up at him with two big, blue marbles for eyes.

The bunny reeked of vanilla and sugar, but Romano loved it.

It reminded him _so _much of the nights where Florence's head would be right under his chin, and her face would be buried in his neck. The nights where she would nuzzle into his chest and make him moan with joy.

The nights where the devil would be sleeping happily with his angel.

The angel that always had both his heart _and _her bunny, whether she knew it or not.

Lovino had a reason for taking Mister Whiskers away from his angel. That was why he had the strip of light pink fabric in his hands.

Taking the delicate ribbon in between his fingers and holding the rabbit down with his legs, Romano wrapped the pink cloth around the bunny's neck and tied it tightly in a bow just under its chin.

"There," he whispered with satisfaction.

Straightening the bowtie and securing it, the Italian kissed the rabbit's head and stood up. Walking quietly down the hall and upstairs, he stopped in front of her bedroom and set it outside of her door. Reaching into his undershirt, he pulled out a simple, white note card and placed it down next to it.

"For you, mio amore. I'd do anything for you. Even if it sends me to heaven," he whispered softly.

Kissing the bunny one last time, he walked back to the comfort of the living room couch and drifted off to sleep for the night with the cursive letters on the note running through his mind.

_I hope your bunny likes pink as much as you do, Florence. Sleep well, mia bella angel. _

_ Love,  
__  
__Romano _

* * *

"And the ugly, old hag replied, 'Yes. But wait until you taste one, dearie. Like to try one? Go on. Go on. Have a bite'. The beautiful princess was hesitant to take the mysterious apple at first, but made her choice and took a large bite out of the blood red fruit."

As the quote from the poison apple scene in the book, _Snow White_, came out of Arthur's mouth, an image of the setting portrayed within the story took a hold of his mind and as he read, the words on the pages came to life and danced before him. The story of Snow White was becoming a part of his reality as he continued to read down the page and fit his mouth around each delicate word.

Arthur had always been told by his brothers that he was a _very _gifted reader with lots of expression and creativity in his voice; never even mispronouncing or stuttering on a word, but he would gladly argue that he was only reading for the mere joy of it.

And _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs _had always been his favorite.

The truth was that he had read that story _so_ many times, that he only needed to glance down occasionally to see where he was at. He even added a few descriptive sentences of his own here and there to give Florence the same, exact image that he was picturing.

By the time that the noble prince had come to rescue the sleeping Snow White, Arthur had finally noticed that Florence was sound asleep next to him in the bed.

He felt a small smile tug at his lips as he shut the book and placed it on his nightstand. Arthur turned off the lamp, settled himself next to her, and pressed her face into his neck.

He could feel her warm breath hitting his skin and her soft hair curling around his chest. She adjusted herself and started to nuzzle her face into his neck in her sleep, which made Arthur fight back a groan of pure pleasure.

It felt wonderful; sweet, even.

It felt _right_.

Stroking her cheek lightly and kissing her head, he whispered softly, "And my princess slept happily ever after. The end."

* * *

Kiku Honda was sitting in his favorite spot.

The spot that always brought him great comfort and thinking grounds.

His long, jet black hair was flowing softly in the late September breeze that always remained stationary above Tokyo, Japan, where Mister Honda had spent all of his life.

All of his long, tiring life.

Kiku had always considered himself a short, old man. Well, at least when compared to his friends. Ludwig Beilschmidt, the tall, blonde haired- blue eyed German with a commanding voice and an athletic body. Feliciano Vargas, the young, energetic Italian with long, red hair and the biggest amber eyes Kiku had ever seen.

His only hope was that he would see those wishful, amber orbs again.

Now that Ludwig had traveled off to Austria to meet with his ally, Roderich Edelstien, all that Kiku had left in the world was this very spot.

The white, marble bench that sat directly underneath the flowering cherry blossom tree that rested in the center of his backyard. All of it was next to a small koi fish pond covered with various Japanese vines, plants, and vegetation and was teeming with several large, orange and white fish.

Or as Kiku Honda dubbed it, "The Circle of Peace".

But _not_ today.

No, there was very little peace to be found in the mysterious, brown eyes of the Japanese man that was sitting on the marble stool. In his pale, timid hands rested a single sheet of copy paper. On it was the careful handwriting of a Frenchman.

A Frenchman named Francis.

Kiku did not know how many times his eyes had scanned quickly over the words that were spelled out blatantly on the piece of paper in his delicate hands, but he had read it enough times to memorize that damn letter.

It was _not _a friendly greeting. It was _not_ an invitation.

No. It was a roll call for a war.

A war that would certainly be the downfall of _all_ of Japan.

Maybe even the world.

* * *

_Dear Diary, _

_Francis and I are here. Here in Dublin. _

_Here in the center of hell. _

_Gray fedoras everywhere, kicking front doors down and killing the families inside. Stolen, Italian military tanks roaming the streets and shooting down banks and other government buildings. Young women and children being rushed to the Thames by the men to be sent off to safety; most of them not even making it to the shoreline. _

_It is unbelievable. _

_It is the middle of the damn night. _

_Hiding in this abandoned apartment building is the best shot of survival we have got, right now. Making it to London by morning is another issue all on its own._

_We are planning to strike an attack on the neighborhood bombers below us. Dropping bombs, shooting bullets, or whatever the hell Francis stole off of Louis's plane should do the trick. _

_Whatever gets me out of here faster will do nicely. _

_The air reeks of perfume, cigarettes, and cats; an old lady's joint. The furniture is not any better smelling, either. The white, floral wallpaper is peeling off by the second and the light fixture above us is threatening to crush us at any moment. _

_I do not know how much more of this I can take. _

_Louis had dropped us off at the border of Dublin, Ireland and had fled the scene the moment he realized that they were here. _

_I am guessing that he still remembers what happened in his country those few days ago. _

_But then again, how could he forget?_

_My only hope right now is that Florence is alright. She is supposed to be staying with Arthur up until this war is over, no matter what damage London receives, but I still worry about her constantly. I know that he will take care of her, and keep her safe- he gave me his word- but I cannot help but think of what would happen once this attack reaches London. _

_What will become of her?_

_Meine leibe…_

_We have got to get out of here. I have to see her. To make sure that she is alright and in good hands. _

_But she will not be until she is in mine. _

_Our little rendezvous with them has to wait. _

_I have got a girl to save. _

_- Gilbert Beilschmidt _

* * *

It had been a little after one o'clock when the report of the attack on Dublin, Ireland had come blaring through the radios all over London, England. The prime minister of the United Kingdom had sent out a red alert to the entire nation about the next following days.

To be prepared for an attack.

"Stay indoors at the lowest point in your house. Don't open the doors for _anyone_. No valuables or people are to be out on the streets starting early tomorrow morning. Get plenty of rest tonight, and pray to the Heavens, 'God, please save our Queen'," the prime minister had ordered.

_God needs to save more than just the Queen. _

Now, Arthur laid silently in the pitch black dark of his bedroom, stroking Florence's forehead soothingly and trying to keep his mind off of the tragedy ahead.

But he knew somewhere deep, down inside of him that London would be next.

Florence would be in danger, again.

As Arthur let anxiety eat away at his mind, he kissed her forehead and cheek as if _she _were the one that was worried.

_Oh, Florence. If only you knew of the dangers that lay ahead of you…_

He sighed heavily and kissed her face one, last time before pushing her head back into his neck.

"Sleep well, love. Sleep while you still can."

* * *

Author's Note

Translations:

1. Mio Amore- My Love in Italian

2. Mia Bella- My Beautiful in Italian

3. Meine Leibe- My Love in German

Alright! Well, I apologize if the translation for, "My love", in Italian is wrong. I've been told two different things, actually, so I just looked it up on Google Translator, and it gave me this, so I'm deeply sorry if that's incorrect, but you guys get the picture, right? Anyways, I hope you all liked this chapter, because I spent a good part of my vacation time doing this, and I think it turned out a lot better than the last two I've written! Again, thanks for reading and have an amazing day!

Questions to think about:

Will Romano ever get to sleep with Florence, again? Just what happened to Feliciano that made him disappear? Will the terrorists attack London soon or have other plans for the UK? Will Gilbert and Francis get to Florence in time to protect her?

EXTRA- I just love pissing you guys off with this reminder! Don't forget the Flormano vs. Englence vs. Prussence poll that's available on my profile! Be sure to vote for your favorite by the end of the story, but be aware of changing feels, as it seems to have happened to a bunch of you guys!

Here are the current results:

Flormano: 1

Englence: 0

Prussence: 0

Other: 0

Thanks again and see you all in the next chapter!


	11. Chapter Eleven: Death by Night

Author's Note

Warnings for this chapter:

1. OC

2. Bad Language

3. A Little Suckiness

You people have no clue how much I love you. I've been up since one o'clock practically staring at a blank page and cussing it out. I. Hate. Writer's. Block. Now, I've had a decent portion of WB for this story, but this chapter was by far the worst! For some reason, I just _could not _get a single, satisfying word on this document! It frustrated me highly and I was in a super bad mood all day long. Luckily, I managed to crank something out for you beautiful people. So, appreciate the suckiness, because it is almost _6:30 AM_. The longest I have ever stayed up writing.

Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"I-Is it over?"

"Yes, mio amore. It's over."

Florence was curled up on the living room couch; Romano's arms being wrapped tightly around her shivering body. She could feel his long, careful fingers start to weave and comb through her soft hair as her own arms snaked around his waist.

The whole household had been wide awake ever since five o'clock. Arthur had woken them all up in a cold, nervous sweat.

The prime minister had just been killed.

The United Kingdom's head official was pronounced dead at _4:56 _this morning after a councilmember opened the main office window to smoke a cigarette. As a small plume of smoke arose from the white tube, the poor man had just decided to glance out onto the sleeping city below.

There on the sidewalk- crumpled up and contorted- was his beloved leader.

_4:56 AM_. The man had died while everyone was sleeping.

_4:57_. Arthur was the first to know about it.

Florence recalled the fear and sadness in his face when he had pulled her away from her blissful slumber. His normally witty, green eyes were wet and softer; with less meaning to them. It was as if his already messy, blonde hair had instantly become disheveled, and his youthful face had gained five years.

She had hardly even recognized him.

"Go to Romano, Florence. Tell him what happened, and tell him to comfort you. I'll be in there in a minute, I promise," he had said before kissing her forehead and flying out of the bedroom.

Now, it was Lovino who was kissing her forehead.

"Please, don't worry like you do, mio amore. As long as I'm here, you won't have to," he whispered, kissing her cheek lightly.

Florence felt a shiver run down her spine as a sudden crack of lightning ripped through the night sky. The dark living room was filled with the shadow of a thousand raindrops as they slid silently down the glass windows behind them.

It was as if the whole world was mourning; its tears falling down onto London.

There was quiet in the room, besides the sounds of oncoming raindrops pounding at the glass and Romano's lips lightly parting from her face with every soft, sweet kiss.

Apparently, the thunderstorm had knocked out the power at the Kirkland estate_ hours _ago. Florence did not want to admit it, but the room felt like it was getting even darker and smaller by the second.

She felt like being in a cage.

A caged animal at the city zoo.

Just then, a small flicker of light was seen down the hallway as Antonio and Arthur entered the room. A vanilla scented, wax candle was being cradled in Toni's hands.

As the Englishman took his place next to the beautiful, Italian girl, he rubbed his face and sighed. Turning to the love of his life, he lightly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his shoulder.

"You're everything to me, Florence. I can't loose you like my country lost him," he whispered to her.

"No," Romano growled, hugging her hips and pulling her legs across his lap, "she's _my _everything, Gentleman Bastard, and she always will be."

As the two boys continued to bicker over the young girl between them, Antonio let his golden eyes hit the floor and fill up with tears.

_She is my everything, too. At least you two can actually have her…_

* * *

Wang Yao was living in Hell.

The pure epitome of all things Hell.

The elder, Chinese man sat slumped over against the chilling prison cell wall; his knees clutched tightly to his compacted chest. The freezing cold slab of metal that served as his cot had already contorted his spine into a crooked, lopsided hook shape and had left many bruises and blood-dripping scabs on his pale, sweaty skin.

The traditional ponytail that had neatly tucked his unruly hair away had been chopped off _days _ago by the means of a whip, which was often used to beat him to tears, as well. Instead, all that was left was jet black, shoulder length hair with _many _tangles and split ends.

Even his closest allies would not be able to recognize him anymore.

Wang had been stripped of his scarlet red robe about the same time that his hair had been so rudely cut down. In its place was a gray, ratty shawl with matching pants; if you could even call them pants with all the holes they had in them. At least there was a little color left in him where the blood had dried on his arms, neck, and face.

And even that was starting to fade to gray.

_God, please spare me!_

One by one, Mister Yao had witnessed his renegade soldiers be executed and beheaded via guillotine at his own feet. _They _had considered it as one of the cruel, heartless punishments that had been given to him over the past week. The very scene- no matter how many times it had occurred- always brought a river of tears streaming down his face.

It was not the fact that they were innocent.

It was not the fact that they were China citizens.

It was the fact that Wang knew that they had died in his name. Without any regrets.

Did they make the right choice? I mean, just look at him! An old man just rotting away in prison as an all-out war was being fought right outside. A geezer who could not even save his country from devastation and a period of mourning. Hell, he could not even save himself.

No. They were fools.

They all were.

They were complete, utter fools; incompetent, ignorant bastards to die in his name. To die in his _honor_, as if it were a privilege.

_No more. Please, just make it stop!_

Suddenly, the Chinese man burst into tears and began to silently weep in the middle of his cold, lonely prison cell.

Wang had been broken. Just like glass.

* * *

_Dear Diary, _

_I cannot remember the last time that I have seen that much blood. _

_Wait, scratch that. Jewish Concentration Camps; 1948. _

_And to think, I almost forgot. _

_You know, the next time the Roderich tells me to go to Hell, I will be able to say, "I've already been". Dublin is a literal walk through Hell, or, at least the place where the dead congregate. _

_To be honest, I was ready to die back there. _

_I wanted to die. _

_There was a girl, no older than six, lying dead on the edge of the very bridge that would have given her freedom. Freedom from Hell. _

_Her face had been burned off._

_Not a single part of her body was touched; just the face. _

_I cried. I do not know why, but I did. It was not the fact that she was only six. It was not the fact that I could see her skull coming through the patches of completely burned off skin. _

_It was that fact that my Florence is next. _

_Meine leibe…._

_Life itself would be Hell without her. _

_If she dies, then I want to die, too. But, then again, we would not be going to the same place, now would we? No. She is an angel. I am the devil. _

_We could not be further apart. _

_Francis is asleep. Asleep with his brothers. _

_That makes me happy. To see brothers so close. Is it weird for me to long for a relationship with Ludwig like that? No. _

_It is stupid. _

_It is impossible. _

_Francis and I ran into Alfred and Matthew back on the streets of He- I mean, Dublin. They were trying to help a small boy break free from the pile of fallen bricks that had crippled his leg permanently. _

_The boy died. _

_And they would have, too, if we had not shoved them out of the way of that oncoming military tank. _

_The tank that now marks as a grave for that Irish boy._

_The way that Matthew had instantly burst into tears over the death of a boy he never knew reminded me so much of Florence. _

_She would have done the same. _

_So, Diary, here we are in our shitty hotel room. I honestly do not know how Francis keeps affording these damn rooms, but he needs to consider the fact that there are four, full-grown men that need at least two beds to sleep in. _

_Not one._

_So, being the awesome and handsome guy that I am, I took the floor. I figured that it was much better for three brothers to sleep together than to have two brothers and one sexy Prussian. _

_It might make them uncomfortable. _

_- Gilbert Beilschmidt _

* * *

Romano smiled happily as he looked down at the sleeping angel on his chest.

She looked so very happy, even though her day had been utter Hell.

Lovino combed through Florence's hair lightly and pulled her up to kiss her forehead. He let out a soft chuckle as she stirred and fit her head into the bend of his neck.

She was so sweet when she slept.

The Italian shot a quick look at the white, stuffed rabbit that was clutched tightly in her arms, like it was stuck with glue. Florence had immediately noticed the pink ribbon on its neck when he had handed the treasured bunny back to her.

He was _so _glad that she liked it.

She deserved to be happy. She deserved to be loved. She deserved everything that Romano had ever given her.

"I'm crazy about you, Florence," he whispered, kissing her head.

Romano let out a quiet moan when she snuggled into his neck. He always loved it when she did that. Especially on his soft spot.

Lovino smiled at her; _his angel_. Not Arthur's. _His_.

"Say you'll be mine. Please."

* * *

Author's Note

Translations:

1. Mio Amore- My Love in Italian

2. Meine Leibe- My Love in German

Yep. I can finally say that I actually accomplished something at _6:30 _in the morning. So, anyways, I promise to have something out faster and a lot better next weekend, so don't hate me for the past few chapters that have been pretty suckish.

Questions to think about:

Will the Terrorists of Europe attack London soon, or hold off until a later date? What happened to the prime minister? Will Romano earn Florence's heart, or will Arthur?

EXTRA- Hmm…let me think. Oh yeah! The poll! So, if you've been reading my stories, you should know what my poll is about and how to access it, blah, blah, blah. So, yeah. Just go vote, please! Sorry, I'm really tired, okay?

Anyways, thanks again for reading and have an amazing day!


	12. Chapter Twelve: Teardrops in Rain

Author's Note

Warnings for this chapter:

1. OC

2. Mild Language

Hello guys! I am deeply, _deeply _sorry about not uploading this thing until now. The past few weeks of my life have not been the best, to say the least, and I've been quite upset about it all. So, all of that combined led to a pretty big Writer's Block and a spell of utter laziness. I tried to write this for the past three weekends, but it just didn't happen. Between all the struggles and some end of the year testing, I just wasn't focused on or concerned about this, and now I'm paying the price. On the bright side, though, things are a lot better and this is the first, full day of my summer vacation, so I'm free for almost three months!

So, again, I'm really sorry for the major delay and I hope you guys like it and enjoy!

* * *

_He _watched the day's heavy rainfall pound away at the concrete with cold, stone-like eyes from the safety of the gazebo. _His _black, leather combat boots were soaking wet; dripping with the fresh, clear liquid that was falling endlessly from the bleak sky above. The arising, early morning mist was coating _his _face in a thin mask of evaporated water.

The only thing _he _could see was the consistent puffs of tobacco eluding from his wooden pipe.

A streak of hot, white electricity struck the sky and lit up the world around _him_ for one, split second. Rain was serving as the perfect veil for the floral planters that were strategically spread out before _him_.

_His _unreadable, dark orbs scanned casually over the abandoned garden during the few, precious moments of vision that Mother Nature had provided _him_.

Roots, half-eaten berries, and unruly, unkempt weeds were appearing at random all over the garden, hidden in between leafy hydrangea plants and intertwined with the thick stalks of corn husks and brightly colored sunflowers. Nocturnal, herbivorous creatures of the night were silently burrowing their homes in the damp soil of the flower beds and kicking up the blossoming plants inside.

_He _remained emotionless as_ his _eyes tore away from a small, working jackrabbit to the body of an Italian soldier.

Dead.

A pool of scarlet blood was encircling her corpse rapidly, and dying her ashy, black hair a pale shade of red. Her military uniform was torn and ripped carelessly at the seams. It was as if an unmonitored toddler had attempted to make art out of it with a pair of safety scissors. The gleaming, silver blade of a knife was sticking up out of her neck and stained a deep, dark red.

She should learn not to stick her nose into places that it does not belong.

More of the thick, drug-filled clouds of disintegrated tobacco drifted high up into the air. The very scent of the addictive plant was enough to drive anyone mad.

Especially when you had just started smoking it.

_Mad…that was what they had called you. "Utterly, hopelessly mad, that one! Have you even heard of the things he threatens to do? The people he claims to kill?" All of it right outside of the cage they kept you in. Like a rotten, dirty mutt found wondering the streets; forced to kneel before those who speculated about every flaw in your body. You are an animal. You always were…_

Suddenly, _he _clutched _his_ head and clenched _his _teeth, causing the tip of the carefully crafted pipe to chip off in _his_ mouth and spear through _his _tongue.

The Voice.

It was starting again.

_Schizophrenic. That was what the doctors had said. Although, they could never quite help you, could they? All they were capable of doing was giving you over to the white coats in the interviewing rooms- "Daily therapists," they said- who would try and get to the source of your, "problems". All they did was get a gunshot to the head. Of course, that was before the little, white jacket, right?_

Instead of screaming bloody murder into the glistening, morning light, _he _sighed and gave another puff of _his _pipe. A heavy enough dose to silence _his_ mind and let it slip into a drugged coma.

Damn, _he_ hated that voice. It had been there for almost five months, whispering every nightmare- every terrifying, _beautiful _dream- in _his_ ear. The Voice was just a constant reminder that _he_ was going mad.

Utterly, hopelessly mad.

Just like the white coats had said.

_He _let out a soft sigh and leaned against one of the wooden posts that supported the gazebo. The pipe still sticking out of _his_ mouth, _he _gave it one, last effort before tossing it aside and watching it set a few blades of surrounding grass ablaze with crackling, snapping fire.

_What are you doing? Your life is utter Hell, face it! There is no room in this world for insane people like you. That is why you are so fixated on killing everyone. To satisfy your desiring needs. Or is it just a hunger? Now, how is that plan going, again? I say, the easiest thing to do is to just end it all! The doctors had also said you were terribly suicidal, right? You know what to do. _

_He _bit _his _bottom lip so hard that blood was beginning to trickle from it.

The Voice was right. It always was.

No matter how much it hurt to admit it.

Unwillingly, with tear-streaked cheeks, _his _eyes drifted over to the pipe that was laying in the burning grass. There was just enough tobacco left inside to do the job. One, small breath was all it took. In one instant, _he _would be dead; the substance inside of the pipe still being sucked down _his _throat as proof. A few tears would still be falling down the profile of _his _face, as they were now.

All it took was one, split second, and _he_ would be wiped off the face of the earth for good, never to return. What would happen then? Would the souls of the millions of lives _he _had stolen be torturing _him_ in the afterlife? Would _he_ have to carry their burden on _his_ back as _he _climbed the hill to eternity?

An eternity in the deepest depths of Hell.

_His _pale, clammy hands stretched out and felt the crisp grass around the pipe. _His _long fingers curled around the base and pulled it up to level with _his_ mouth. _He _let _his _soft lips rest on the tip as if saying their last goodbyes.

_Just one, little breath is all it takes…_

No.

It cannot be that easy. _He _will not let it be this easy.

One moment, and _his _whole life- _his _entire existence- would be erased like the torn, vandalized pages of a pupil's history book. No one would ever be able to decipher those few, missing words that would complete the historical event.

No. _He _would not leave. Not this easily, at least.

After all, _he _still had a girl to kill.

_His _long promised reward.

_He _gritted his teeth as the last, few, salty tears rolled down his face like battle scars. _His _fingers unfurled from around the pipe and let the wooden structure fall to the ground.

The attack on Dublin had commenced, and _he _was the main event.

* * *

London.

What had become of such a beautiful, cultured city?

Arthur sighed heavily and ran his cold fingers through his soft, messy, blond hair. His wise, emerald orbs were squeezed shut and his head felt as if a spear was being thrust into it; all the knowledge he had consumed over his years pouring out like a fountain of crystal clear water.

His mind was blank, to say the least.

He tightened his grip on the edges of a bold, Union Jack blanket that was draped loosely around his broad shoulders. It reminded him of his times as a child when he would run around Francis's house wearing one of his bed sheets on his back.

He had claimed to be Superman.

Some hero he turned out to be.

The words spoken from the other end of that one, accursed phone call were still ringing violently in Arthur's head. The way the words had stumbled out in a sweat. The dreaded mourning soon to come. The burden that was placed so heavily upon his shoulders. It was all too much.

Even for Arthur.

"Wait until the tabloids get a hold of this! Soon enough, we'll have the whole country running about; the fools claiming, 'Dear God! It's the end of the world!'. Won't that be fun for _us _to handle," the chief of police had scoffed.

But he was right.

The nation would be in a panic; unable to conjure up a better story other than God sending the earth to its fiery death. Some would be in denial, having to be carried away on a thin, white stretcher and transported to a local mental institution, as if they did not have enough standing by. Others would be completely distraught and consumed by their own, worst fears. There was nothing any therapist could do to stop _that_.

Only those who witnessed his body being broken on the streets would be rational.

He was dead.

Dead as a damn doornail, as they say.

The chief had suggested suicide, but Arthur did not think so. At least, not with the prime minister's life having been so prosperous and fortune-filled.

The councilman who had discovered the whole thing had thought it was a stroke or a heart attack, but the man was much too young and fit to have had such a terrible fate.

So, the only option left was murder, but you would have to be out of your right mind to go off telling the press _that_ story. Who knows what they might do with it?

Therefore, there was only one thing left for Arthur to do.

Sit and wait.

* * *

_Dear Diary, _

_I heard about Great Britain's prime minister jumping out of a window. _

_Seven stories up, Antonio had said. _

_I know Arthur is pissed._

_Francis, his brothers, and I arrived in Scotland only a few hours ago. I was right. Gingers everywhere! Tall, lanky red-heads with boiling tempers and freckles like the plague. _

_There is only so much Ginger a guy can take. _

_I still cannot manage to get that poor, dead kid out of my mind from yesterday. The way that his petrified shriek had split the atmosphere in two was enough to rip a man's heart out. _

_At least, it did that to mine. _

_The monster inside of that damn military tank was not human. He did not even deserve the title of an animal. _

_At least animals have souls. _

_Did he honestly not see that boy's skull shatter apart under his wheels, or did he just not care? Did he not hear those screams of pure, petrified terror, or did he just choose to ignore them? _

_Did he not see Alfred and Matthew there, or would he have just run over them, too?_

_He would. Without even a second glance. _

_Heartless demons, they are. Soul eaters. Followers of Satan coming to infest the earth and give Heaven a taste of Hell. _

_They used to be children, too. Just like the ones they murder. _

_I will kill myself before someone gets me to believe that those monsters actually have morals; things in life to live by and breathe for. If they do, then they sure as hell do not deserve them. I would rather jump in front of one of those tanks myself than have to be convinced into believing that garbage._

_Florence could convince me, though._

_She could tell me that the sky was purple, and I would paint my windows violet. She could say that water was as red as a rosebush, and I would fully expect to find blood-like liquid pouring into the kitchen sink. _

_She could tell me that she loved me, and I would trust it to be true, and love her back with every ounce of my heart. _

_Just like I do now. _

_I would never doubt her. Not in a million years. _

_I wish I could talk to her. Just to hear her soft, angelic, Italian voice respond to my rough, German one. Just to see the way she smiles when I tell her jokes, and to let her hear my strange laugh, which always makes her giggle. _

_Just to see her alive. _

_I can just picture those huge, amber eyes- those delicate gemstones blessed by God- starring at me; suspended just out of my reach. Her long, soft, wavy locks fluttering freely in the breeze; kissing my face happily. Her bright, youth-filled smile sending butterflies in startled flurries inside of my heart and stomach. _

_I can almost touch her, I think, until when I try, her image falls away, spilling over into a disintegrated heap on the ground. Just like sand. _

_She will never love me back, will she? _

_No. _

_No one ever does._

_- Gilbert Beilschmidt_

* * *

The steady, hard rainfall continued to hit down on top of the Kirkland Estate as midnight silently fell onto London, encasing it in a seemingly endless sleep. The angels above were still letting their salty tears leak down onto the beloved Earth below in their rhythmic patterns that seemed to lull so many people to rest for the night.

If only that was the same for Florence.

Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling fearlessly at the moon as if to represent the mourning of the humans residing in the United Kingdom. There was undeniable pain in its feverish calls, something that made Florence's heart break into pieces.

It was dieing.

She wanted to be able to dive into the warmth and comfort of Romano's chest and hear his voice whispering sweet thoughts into her ear. She wanted to hear his steady heartbeat and feel the coldness of his bare skin making contact with hers. She wanted to be able to shiver and blush as he would gently suck on her ear and kiss her cheeks.

But she could not.

Lovino had drifted off into a deep sleep hours ago with her on the living room couch.

Waking him up for a silly, little matter like this one would be selfish.

The guest bedroom was dimly lit, with only three, wax candles providing as a source of light during the power outage. Shadows of nocturnal demons and unpleasant beasts of the night stretched out across the shimmering, tiled floor, which served as a reflection pool for the black spiders that were suspending from the ceiling.

Florence let out a soft whimper as an earsplitting sound broke the eerie spell of silence. She squeezed her bunny tightly to her chest and buried her face in its white, unblemished fur. She could not prevent the several, salty tears that were flowing involuntarily from her eyes and soaking the thin, pink ribbon around her rabbit's neck.

The howls had stopped.

The dieing animal had been shot.

* * *

Author's Note

God, I'm tired. Sorry if that last section didn't end correctly, I just didn't feel like sitting here for another ten minutes thinking of some way to end it with an awesome cliffhanger. I'm just way too exhausted for that.

Anyways, so, I spent my first three days of summer rereading book five of Harry Potter; The Order of the Phoenix. Why? Because my band teacher thought it was a great idea to show us the movies on the last weeks of school and force me to become a gigantic PotterHead yet again. So, because my creative thirst demands it, I am deciding to write a Hetalia/Harry Potter crossover story. I'm not giving up on this story, trust me! I am actually going to wait quite a while before posting it, due to wanting to get to almost finishing this one. But, on the side, I'll be writing PotterTalia, so hopefully, I'll have the first five chapters up for you guys in, say, maybe a month? I don't know, summer is busy for me. So, yeah, tell me what you guys would like to see in it! (Hint: Florence and England will be the main focuses/pairing. Not because I like Englence better, but because Arthur fits better with Harry Potter, you know?)

Questions to think about:

Just how much does _he _resent those who sent _him_ to the insane asylum? Will Florence choose the romantic Italian to spend her life with, or will she choose the sexy British guy? Or, will there be a third party to choose from?

Thanks again for being the best fans in the world and I love you all!


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